Sam
by AnabellaHunter13
Summary: Sam is a Woodbury survivor trying to make her way at the prison. She finds solitude and then something... someone else.
1. Those Days Are Over

I remember the days when the zombie apocalypse was just a pipe dream. When we all watched movies like "Night of the Living Dead" and wonder what it would be like if the dead walked the Earth.

Those days are over.

I wrench my knife out from the skull of a walker. Its blood splatters against my face, and I throw it to the ground. I'm on a run, just a supply run, with my dad, Sasha, Tyreese, and Michonne. Once we've cleared the place of those monsters we begin to ransack the place. The place in question is a long deserted Walmart. The place reeks of rotten produce and is mostly empty. I load up my backpack with whatever I can I find. We regroup at the entrance about half an hour later with our haul and count out what we've got. I managed to collect the most, which is pretty sad, because I only got about three cans of various vegetables, a couple canisters of powdered milk, and cough drops. Winter's coming you know.

We all squeeze into the silver Dodge Ram and my dad drives us away. We cruise along the empty roads and I look straight ahead, I'm squeezed in between Tyreese and Sasha and I'm what you call claustrophobic.

A couple months ago, I'd have never gone on runs, I didn't have to. I lived in Woodbury, where the Governor protected us and we had walls and a town, and I almost convinced myself that things in this world could be good again. But then he killed my mother, it was only God's grace that my father happened to be ill the day the Governor stormed the prison. I lived a lie, and I'm not proud of it. People still look at me funny, wonder if I'm right in the head. Because I lived there, but now I'm going back to my new home, the prison.

I don't talk much, to anyone really, I'm what you call 'anti-social', that's another reason people question my mental state. It's not like I don't have options, I knew some of them from before, like Patrick, he's my age, 15. And then there's Lizzy and Mika, who are both younger, but friends of my father. I don't care for Lizzy much, because if you ask me, she's the crazy one. There's also the one's I fondly call the 'knee biters' and are too young for me to properly befriend.

There are also people roughly around the befriendable age that were attacked by the people I used to call mine. There's Beth and her boyfriend, she's nice, but I don't think I'd be able to stand her for too long. Zack, he's funny, but my father wouldn't let me hang around him, because I'm his little girl and he doesn't do much in the way of trust older boys. And then Carl, the one I admire from afar. I've watched him change, do what his father says, become the farmer boy I know he's not. I've never talked to Carl much, only once or twice. Because at some point, with so few people, words must be exchanged at some point.

By the time I stir from my thoughts, we're rolling up to the prison and Carl and Rick are opening up the gates. He's not wearing his hat, hadn't for a while now. That's how I identified him at first. The boy with the sheriff hat. Those days are gone too. But secretly, I kind of want them to come back.

Tyreese throws the door of the truck open and I slide out. Immediately, the deafening roar of walkers assaults my ears. But soon it becomes white noise and I can hear other things again. We walk into the prison and I find Carol, I hand her my haul, she'll find it most useful as the main cook around here. After that I head to my cell in D block. It's a lonely little thing, even the curtain that acts as a door is plain and gray. And it's not like I have to share with someone and our cell choices must compromise, this is my own will. Inside I have my backpack, my only connection to Woodbury and the likes behind even that, it's pushed under the bottom bunk. Unlike most people here, I prefer to sleep on the top bunk. An unzipped sleeping bag hangs slightly over the edge and I have a pillow that's tucked underneath it. Also under my bed is my collection of my most prized possessions. Books. Stored under there are a good 25 books that I've squirreled away, that I've found on runs, or I've taken from the library- pardon me _borrowed_. Other than that, my cell is empty. But that's ok, I like it that way.

I climb up to my bed and I curl up on my side, hidden from view, that I only pull out now is the latest book I've started- Catch 22. And I think I like it.

I read and read and read until it's time to eat again and then I tuck my book away again and climb down. I walk alone to the dining hall and sit down beside Patrick, because there's not enough room to sit alone. But I don't talk, I just watch. I always watch, waiting for the day.

**AN: Please review! It helps me out a lot**!


	2. My Place

Sometimes, back before the world went to hell, teenagers would sneak out, and do… whatever it was that they possibly felt the need to sneak out for. I feel it within me to continue on that time honored tradition, and like all the others, I have my reasons. There are nights, not unlike tonight, that I frankly can't sleep. And so I flee, I flee to the outside, and I know the others do the same sometimes, I've seen them. They all have their places, the watch towers, the catwalk, the courtyard even. But me, my place is different, and I like it that way.

The lights have been out for roughly an hour now, and I can hear my counter parts in D breathing, even and relaxed. Very carefully, as though not to make a sound, I throw my sleeping bag off of me. I slowly creep down, my arms grip the bed frame and I lower inch by inch until my socked feet touch the cold, concrete floor. I then lace up my Doc Martens and over my loose army green t-shirt I put on my jacket which is a denim vest sewn to a light gray hoodie, as it turns out this is actually a warm pair. I slip my black beanie over my honey shaded hair. I slip on my fingerless gloves, because my place requires climbing. And I slide my knife into its sheath, just in case, because you just don't know anymore.

I stick my head past the curtain, just to make sure the coast is clear and then I slink out from my cell. My ears remain sharp for any noise other than silence- or its nearest companion of steady breathing. I make it down the stairs and out the hallway without so much as someone stirring in their sleep. I'm quick and quiet down the hallway, sometimes I have to think about where I'm going because I haven't been here for too terribly long.

I get to the outside and white moonlight from the full moon falls upon my skin. A brisk chill in the air reminds me how close winter really is. It tries to push through my clothes and I zip up my jacket in dispute. I know tonight is Daryl's night to guard, and he's especially sharp, so I'll have to be extra sneaky.

I crouch-run in and out between shadows, my eyes constantly on the watch tower, I think a couple times I'm pressed up against the dark wall and I stop breathing because I think I sensed movement. I work my way over to the catwalk, it's a slow but sure process. Eventually I'm off of Daryl-radar and I inch open the door to access the catwalk and ascend the stairs. My boot squeaks on a step and my heart thumps in my stomach. I gulp fiercely and tell myself no one heard me. I exit the stairwell and find myself on the catwalk. There's a small panel that peels back if I push it free from the concrete that so loosely holds it in place. I swiftly climb the link fence and push open the panel, it's not too big, but my body is slender enough to squeeze through. I'm pulling myself up onto the concrete ceiling that once kept prisoners in.

Everything here is concrete, concrete floors, concrete walls, concrete ceilings, concrete walkways, concrete roads, concrete watch towers, concrete hearts for concrete people. I cannot stand this concrete world. Save the field where we grow our crops and the little pond that strays just outside our fences, that's my eyes only relief . It's dull and drab and depressing. All things that make my heart sag. It's not as though they don't try to make the best of things, they really do. Story time for the kids, farming- which isn't my favorite by far, the library, even Patrick has his Lego's that he enjoys.

I feel like the longer I stay here, the more they try to make this place like Woodbury, distracting us from the real world. It's not all stories about how the prince saves the princess, it's "Watch out you gotta walker on your tail, hold on lemme get that for you." I know what's it's really like, I've never forgotten. And I know I'm a kid, and I know I shouldn't think this way, but I'm an observer, I take in my surroundings, it happens. This fake sense of serenity, it's bullshit.

I get to my feet on the concrete ceiling that is now under the soles of my shoes, taking a quick sweeping glance for anyone that might spot me. I'm clear. I reach upward and I can just barely grab the roof firmly with my arms stretched all the way. I pull up, my arm muscles taut with the strain of pulling up my body. I kick the building, searching for a secure foothold, finally my flailing feet grip the brick enough and I scale the wall. I let out one last heave and kick, my body topples onto the roof and I lay there for a moment. Not necessarily tired, I just like taking in the night sky, but giving my body a respite from the haul is nice too. After a moment, I get to my knees and then push myself to my feet. The roof is flat and leaves have collected from trees blown off course over many years, fortunately by now I've cleared a path to my place.

I walk carefully, as not to crunch any leaves, and not to make a noise to the people below me. About 30 feet from the edge of the roof is a raised platform that probably was the top to some furnaces, back when those still worked and heating the prison was a thing. I climb on top of the platform, there it is, and there it finally is. My place. It's not much, but the view is spectacular. I have a couple blankets up here, and binoculars that I have procured for myself from one of my first runs. Should I have told someone I had them? Absolutely. Will I tell them even now? Hell no. I sit down on one blanket and wrap myself up in the other. I grab the binoculars that are pressed against my boots and look around. There Daryl is, up in his watch tower, still oblivious of my presence. And there's the walkers, ever present as always, their roar is almost dulled up here, another reason why I treasure my place. They push against the fences relentlessly, they don't rest, they just eat. Are there more than usual?

I turn away, I can never look at them for too long. I watch through my extended eyes for a little while longer and then I set them down. I stretch out on my blanket and shut my eyes, I may or may not fall asleep, but as of the moment, my body leans toward the side of may not. I just listen.

Minutes go by, and suddenly, a voice.

"What are you doing up here?"

I try to act like I was totally shocked to hear him, but I wasn't, I heard him long ago, I heard the chain link rustling with an inexperienced climber, and then the grunts of trying to climb up here. And even the careless crunch of leaves. Jeez. He could've tried to make himself a little less obvious. But maybe he wanted me to hear him coming, he is too careful to be so noisy. Yes, I decide he has done this on purpose.

I open my eyes and sit up, there in front of me sits a pair of bright blue eyes not even the darkest night could dim.

"Carl?" I say. How did he find me? I was so careful, I'm always so careful.

"No, the other fourteen year old boy farmer." He teases, the corner of his lip turn up in a slight smirk.

I snort and roll my eyes, this must only be our third conversation, yet he seems so casual, like we do this every day. If only.

"The better question is, what are _you_ doing here?" I try to stay as calm as humanly possible when one is just a foot away from the most interesting boy the zombie apocalypse has.

"I followed you?" he points out the obvious. My lips flatten into a line and I give him a 'no-duh' look.

"But why, why me? And how?" I feel like I'm interrogating him, which is good. I need to pick things up in order to prevent future spottings.

"I've… uh… been seeing you come up here. And I wanted to see what was the big deal could be about this place." His cheeks flush slightly, I can tell he had to search for words other than 'I've been watching you.'

"Uh huh." I say, "Well, this is it. How ya feelin'?" I cast him a glance, while extending my arm to the view.

"Well Sam," his brilliant blue eyes bore into my every being, and I have to physically struggle not to squirm at the intensity of his glance, "I think the view is great."


	3. Changes

When the world went to shit, they say we all changed. In one way or another, tried to find some way to cope with this sudden and rapid alteration in our history. Some drank, others smoked, and if that didn't work, out came the knife, and out with the light in their eyes.

I'd seen all these things and more and I began to wonder if there was something seriously wrong with me for not doing any of the above. I mean I'm a teenager, we were already hormonal and dramatic and our own kind of insane before. These were all things that we did, even without walker provocation. But instead I kept to books, the only thing I knew wouldn't change. Because words are forever.

I think every inch of my face must be flushed red, and I think Carl's is too, because he looks away after a moment. And neither of us can bear to look at the other.

Every atom in my body demands that I flee, that I run, it's what I do. So before I even know what I'm doing, my blankets are gathered around my ankles, and I'm standing.

"Well, uh, it's was… nice to, uh, talk to you," I offer, my eyes flit around nervously, my heart going a thousand miles an hour. Get yourself under control, Sam! I tell myself. I'd like to say that I can't figure out for the life of me why I'm flipping out right now, but I do know. And it's a problem. A large one. I take a step backward, and the blankets seize up around my boots, my arms flail and I nearly fall off the platform. But Carl is up in a heartbeat-which at the moment is quite fast. And his strong arms steady me. For such a lanky boy, he sure has some muscle. Maybe this farming gig is paying off. I'm cationic for a moment and I think I'm just trying to recover from my scare. Carl's eyes are wide with concern and they look like they want to ask a million questions that he dare not speak aloud. His skin glows pale in the moonlight and his dark brown hair blows softly in the breeze. It's only gotten longer since I've been here. He could cut it I know. But I've seen him around, always with a slight air of defiance. He probably is just acting out against his long gone mother. Missing her, but not her haircuts. His hair is fluffier than normal, he must have showered earlier this evening. Even with its added fluffiness, the hair still trails past his ears and covers his neck. I gulp and realize I've been staring, again. I blink a few times and bend down so I don't have to look at him, untangling the stupid blanket around my feet.

"We've all got jobs to do, you know," or at least that's what Beth says, "The sun won't wait forever. And you've got to be up early to farm any way."  
He nods and that slight smirk with the touch of raised eyebrows comes back, "and you? What's your job?" It's almost like that stupid boy is mocking me.

I... I don't really have a job, it changes, I float around to wherever I'm needed. I'd like to answer with reading, but that's private, "I have stuff to do...things..." I swallow uneasily.

He nods again, and then a moment later he adds with a teasing tone, "Better get your rest then. This stuff and things sounds like really taxing stuff." His smirk turns into a smile and he's showing his teeth. I smile too. Because I can't find it within myself to not.

"At times," I add with a joking tone of my own. Then I crouch down at the end of the platform, letting my legs go over the end, my hands gripping the platform so tight my knuckles turn white in the silver moonlight.

"Gonna be alright there?" Carl asks, I can almost hear the smile in his tone.

I let out a grunt and stretch a little farther and my toes intercept the ground, "Yep, I can manage." I consider waiting for Carl to get down himself, but I don't know what I would say. So I start walking over to the edge of the roof. I crawl over the side and let myself fall the two feet this time. Luckily noise from this action was minimal, Daryl can't see me from here anyway. The chain link is still pulled back. Clumsy Carl, wouldn't wanna expose my place. But I can hear Carl coming to the edge and I'm starting to get nervous, when he's close enough to hear me I hiss, "fix the link when you climb down!" And then I expertly climb down the chain link fence. I race down the stairwell and start heading back to D Block. I'm not as careful this time, but I care less now, I'm going back and I'm sidetracked.

I make it safely back to my block and I kick off my shoes and remove my jacket and beanie. I climb up the ladder and lay down on my bunk bed. I wrap myself up in my sleeping bag and stare at the wall. All I can hear and all I can think about are Carl's words. They buzz in my brain and in my ears and they make my heart beat way faster than it probably should. I fall asleep thinking about how nice my name sounds when he says it.

**4 WEEKS LATER**

I haven't spoken to Carl since that night on the platform. I haven't gone back to my place either. It's too big of a risk. If he saw me, then haven't others inevitably spotted me as well? Maybe if I wait long enough, he'll forget, or maybe I will, and I'll feel safe visiting my place again. If it's even mine anymore, he knows where it is now, but does that make that place OURS?

By the time the sun crosses the horizon, I'm already awake. The beginnings of a new day's light illuminate my sheet. There's nothing to sleep in for anymore. Then again, one could make the argument that there's nothing to wake for anymore either. I choose to look on the brighter side.

It's still not cool enough to wear my jacket during the day, but it's too cold to get away with a T-shirt anymore. So today I pull out my green flannel shirt and pull it onto my shoulders. I button all the buttons save the top one and I roll the sleeves up to my elbows. Next I put on my dark gray skinny jeans and then my Doc's. I clip the holster to my knife sheath so it sits on my waist and I make sure my knife is clicked in. I braid my hair over one shoulder and slip my beanie on.  
"Samantha?" I hear my dad's voice from the other side of the sheet. His large silhouette dowses the available light to my cell, "You decent?" I try not to laugh. Decency doesn't exist in this world. Not anymore. 

Instead I reply, "Yeah," and slide the curtain open for him.

My dad is a rather large muscular man, the kind that would've scared the shit out of boys that might've tried to date me on two conditions 1. The world hadn't gone to shit, and 2. I wasn't me. He was about 6' 3" and I hadn't been gifted with his height. His hair was salt and pepper on the sides mixed with my hair color which was like a dull version of honey. His eyes had dark circles around them (but really, who didn't anymore?) and were bright brown. My dad is what you call a good southern man, and his accent is nearly as thick as Rick and Daryl's.

He leans against the cell entryway and rubs a hand over his stubble that covers all over the lower half of his face and I can already tell he hasn't come bringing good news. "Hey, Daryl, Zach, Michonne, Glenn, Tyreese, Sasha and I are going out on a run today." Is that all? It can't possibly be.  
"Great! I'll come with you!" I try not to get too excited, but it's been a while since I've left the compound and I'm getting a little antsy. I still haven't gotten myself a proper job.

He takes in a deep breath and his hand is rubbing his face again, "See, Darlin' that's the thing. I've been talkin' to Rick and them. And they agree with me. You should start stickin' to your chores 'round here. Seeing as none of the other kids are goin' on runs. We gotta keep a sense of humanity instilled in you kids, being the next generation and all. And sending you out there all the time, it ain't helpin'. Now I know you don't like it, but I've already talked to Carol and she said she'd welcome your help." My jaw drops. _No more runs? But, but I'm good! I can do runs just as well as anyone. It's what I'm best at! _

I close my mouth after a moment. Any argument is pointless, he won't change his mind. He never does.

"Ok." Is all I say, is all I _can_ say, at least without screaming at him telling him how wrong this is and how wrong he is. I push past him with crossed arms. I'll do what he asks, but I won't be happy about it.

A thought crosses my mind and I turn around and say it before I can stop myself 

"Per chance you find any books, I'm sure there is a collection of books around here that could use a few new friends." I mean my collection, but I infer the library. And then I'm gone, down the hall and outside to the pavilion.

Breakfast isn't ready yet, so I decide I might as well do my part and help Carol out. She's cooking eggs this morning and talking to Patrick over her shoulder, instructing him on what to do.

I wait for her to finish and then I tap her on the shoulder, her eyes meet mine and she gives a slight smile, "Hi Sam, your dad said you'd be helping out today! Why don't you check on the coffee and make sure it's coming along alright?" Her tone is somewhat Distracted, probably from trying to focus on a million things at once. So I go over to the pot of coffee which is steaming over a gas burner. I stir it around a couple of times, trying to prevent scalding it.

Patrick comes up beside me, standing a good 5 inches taller than I am, "Got yourself a real job I see."

I nod, stirring the pot some more, "Carol!" I call, I think it's ready!"

"Just turn off the gas," she replies, "I'll be there in a minute. Why don't you help out Patrick in the meantime, looks as though he needs a partner to keep him on task." Her tone is half joking, giving Patrick a hard time, but I still go with Patrick to see what he's up to anyway.

He's cooking up some of the venison that Daryl caught yesterday. I stand there idly, watching Patrick concentrate on the meat. Wouldn't want to screw up "Mr. Dixon's" well caught meal, as Patrick might say. He was always such a polite dork in that way.

Behind his large black glasses, Patrick's reddish brown eyes are narrowed. Eyes are such a funny thing. They come in so many different shades, and yet we define them with one word. Brown, blue, hazel, green. But they are so much more than this. Eyes show a person's life and how they're feeling and what they're thinking if not guarded carefully enough. But when it comes to color it changes so much, as diverse as the people they represent. For example, there's blue eyes, bright and brilliant like Carl's. And then there's the blue that looks as though you spilled the blue paint and the green paint and mixed into this color that isn't even worth looking at. Where the only benefit is having to take an especially long time to adjust to bright sunlight. That's what my eyes are like. So technically, Carl and I are put into the same category of eye color, but they are two entirely different mediums.

I look away from Patrick and look around to see who is up already. The entire Council is already out here. But they always are, earlier than the rest, our valiant leaders. Rick is awake too, but he's already taken to the fields. I admire the dedication that man has, to try and make things better for his son. It hits me that my father is trying to do the same. And all the sudden I know how Carl feels, that undying fire that blazes high with the will to try and prove himself worthy to his father and those around him.


	4. Humanity

They say in this world, it's easy to lose your humanity. But what is humanity anyway? Can it be gained as easily as it can be lost? How does one define the amount of humanity another possesses? Can humanity be measured in ounces and pounds? I mean you don't just walk around saying, "you sir, you have 7 pounds and 3 ounces of humanity." It just doesn't work like that. Humanity is so much more.

After breakfast I say goodbye to my dad and his crew, who are joined by the new guy, Bob. Dad tells me to be good while he's gone and do whatever Carol tells me, he says he'll be back before sunset. One must hope, right?

After the dust settles I go back up to the pavilion and help Carol scrub the dishes with Patrick. He scrubs and I dry. When almost all the dishes are on my right instead of my left I see Carl walk up out of my peripherals. His cheeks and forehead are smudged with dirt and his fingers are stained with earth and chlorophyll from weeds pulled up. He's wearing his flannel shirt too and his hair is damp with sweat against his forehead and neck. It's even longer now.

"Hey Patrick, Sam," he acknowledges me, "when are you gonna get outta here?" He's talking to Patrick again, he doesn't care when I'm done or what I do. Which if he actually asked me, I'm probably just gonna go back to my cell and read. I'm reading the third Harry Potter now, for the fourth time.

Patrick hands me the final dish, I wipe it down, "Right about now." He says. Patrick puts the brush down and wipes his hands dry on his pants. He looks at Carl for a moment, asking a silent question, and then Carl gives a silent answer, then Patrick looks back at me, "Hey Sam, you wanna come with us?" Getting invited to do stuff? This is a first.

I think about it for a moment, "What are y'all gonna do?"

Carl picks up a ball at his feet that I hadn't noticed before, "Well, my dad wants me to be a good kid and play, so we were gonna go play soccer out in the field." He tosses the ball at me and I catch it with ease, probably more than he expected, his eyes start to crinkle in the corners, "It'd be cool if you'd join us. Patrick's good and all, but we could use some real competition." It takes a second to realize he means me. My eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Oh really?" I smirk slightly, "Is that so? Well I guess I'll just have to come since you're desperate," I roll my eyes dramatically and Carl smiles so his teeth show, I like that smile the best. I set down the rag and make sure Carol doesn't need anything else done, she doesn't. She tells me to go have fun and be a kid. Right, because that's a thing anymore.

"So, you think you can take me and Patrick?" Carl asks

I chest pass the ball back to Carl and I can tell he is caught off guard. He catches the ball, but his eyes widen and he looks at me like he can't believe what I've just done, "I can take you." I'm not sure how the hell this conversation is coming so naturally to me, nor where my sudden burst of confidence came from. But I like it, it's better than stuttering every time I come within fifteen feet of Carl. I also don't understand how we haven't talked to for an entire month and yet he acts like this is an everyday occurrence.

"Wanna bet?" Carl's expression is dead set on mine now. His eyebrows are slightly pointed downward but his eyes sparkle with the idea of a challenge. Every word he speaks is competitive and he's eager for this kind of interaction, while Patrick's good and all, he's just not the assertive type- I didn't know I was either, but today I am.

"What am I gonna win?" I chuckle, I cross my arms and lift my chin confidently.

Carl narrows his eyes a bit and laughs slightly, he raises his eyebrows, "Wow, really stepping out there, I see." He bites his lower lip slightly and studies me a little more, like this is what he's been missing out on. Ha, is he sure wrong.

"Why not?" I shrug. Patrick is just standing there, eyes darting back and forth at our poor shot at witty banter.

"Alrighty then," Carl steps forward, to shake my hand, "Winner gets Michonne's next candy haul."

I consider the deal and stretch my hand out to meet his, his hand is warm and dirty, and as we shake on it, the dirt spreads to my hand, but I don't mind, "It's a bet. But you're gonna be sorry when I get the Big Cat." I taunt him with a singsong tone.

"Oh it's on," I hear Carl mutter and then, we all unanimously burst out sprinting to the field, without any previous discussion otherwise.

The sprint is good and hard and Carl and I are nearly tied, with Patrick at the back, probably something to do with his asthma. Carl throws the ball ahead so he can run better. I speed up chasing after it and he's on my tail. My feet pound the concrete and pound softer as we get to the grass. Carl passes me for a moment and then I give one last big push and I get to the ball first. But he steals it out from under my foot an instant later.

"I win," his smirk is killer and I have to bite my tongue to make sure I stay focused. He is victor, but only for now. The game has yet to begin.

We wait for Patrick and he walks up a few minutes later, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Carl and I exchange a serious glance and we both agree that Patrick should serve as mediator instead of playing.

"Shall we get you another partner to play against me?" I ask, nodding toward the younger kids over by the fence.

Carl shrugs, "Whatever, maybe we can get a real team going."

"Bet's still on though," I remind him.

"Well duh, I'm not missing out on that kind of opportunity," he elbows me slightly, and I elbow him playfully back and we head over to the other kids. Patrick catches up, he's breathing easy again.

As we get closer my skin begins to prickle, something is very wrong here, the kids are near the fence laughing, at the walkers. Laughing. There isn't anything funny about a flesh eating monster.

"Nick look over here!" Lizzie calls and the others laugh and cheer.

"Nick! Nick over here!" shouts Luke. They're all smiling and waving and it makes my gut wrench.

"Hi Nick!" they all cheer on and off, not in time or in rhythm, they just do over and over until I just want to scream at them all to stop.

"What the hell are they doing?" I mutter under my breath

Carl shakes his head slightly and pushes past me, the soccer ball settled into the crook of his arm, "You're naming them?" Carl's lip curls up in disbelief. I can't say I blame him.

Little Mika speaks up first, she's only ten and might just not know better. But that's a far shot, "Well, one of them has a nametag, so," she gives a slight, innocent shrug, "we thought all of them should."

This is why it can't be this way. This is why we can't shelter them and ourselves from this. They start believing they aren't monsters anymore. That somehow, these brain dead freaks have regained some humanity even after passing. And it's absolutely ridiculous. Impossible. There are enough living humans without the humanity and morality in this world, they've gone cold like the walkers. Soulless and impartial to who they kill and why. We just live among monsters now. Dead and alive. That's why sheltering is impossible, because you end up like this. Naming walkers. Unbelievable. I roll my tongue over my chapped lips. I cross my arms uncomfortably and pop a disapproving hip.

Carl is quick to correct Mika, "They had names when they were alive. They're dead now." He reminds her. He reminds all of them.

Lizzie curls her lip at Carl like he's the sick one, "No they're not." She shrugs one shoulder, "They're just different." There's no hesitation to the execution, no remark that what she's saying is wrong. She wholeheartedly believes the words she speaks.

Carl's eyes widen for a moment, "What the hell are you talking about? They don't talk, they don't think, they eat people. They kill people!" he grits his teeth slightly, furrowing his brow.

Lizzie is quick to counter him, "People kill people. They still have names."

Carl lets out an angered sigh, I want to step in, but I don't know how. I just watch, I watch like Patrick. I just do what I'm best at, observing.

He goes on to ask Lizzie if she's watched the change. And I shudder remembering my own experience. Lizzie sets her jaw and her eyes go cold to Carl's, "Yeah. I have."

Carl still won't let up from his lecture mode, and I can see him breaking out, from his farmer mold that he was put into so unwillingly, he knows the truth. Like I do. Carl and I see eye to eye that way. "They aren't people, and they aren't pets, so don't name them." He chastises. Ok, they've had enough. I grab Carl's arm, and pull him back towards the empty field. We won't have a team but there's still a game to be played. I have to look on the bright side, right?

Carl looks at me, and then releases another sigh, "Come on," I say quietly. He stares at me for another moment and then we leave. Lizzie mutters something to the others about reading and they go in the opposite direction.

Halfway back to the field area, Carl hands me the ball, "I, I don't want to play anymore." His lips draw tightly together. And I know what it is. It isn't a want, it's a can't. He's as sickened by the idea of playing kid as I am.

"You can have the candy." I tell him, trying to give a small reassuring smile. But he just nods and fumbles at his waist for the gun that isn't there. I look at that boy that walks back towards the prison and realize he is trying to win back the humanity that he tried to hide losing in the first place.


	5. Lost

It's been a while since I've felt truly lost, I've always had a nice sense of direction and a fair bit of common sense. You can lose your way though, stray off the straight and narrow. You have to nowadays, just to survive. We all do the worst kinds of things to stay this way. I think the last time I really felt lost was when I lost Mom and Noah. He was only thirteen, Noah, he and Mom had to fight. I stayed behind with Dad. He was sick, I was sick. When no one came back, not even the Governor, I was lost. I was so lost, my family, knocked in half before my eyes.

I read in my cell until it was time to start fixing dinner. I found Carol in the library, story time. She was reading the kids Tom Sawyer, she didn't notice me at first, but I noticed something else. Carl. He was crouched behind a bookcase. Watching, but, for what? I crouch-ran over to him. He looked at me and pressed a finger to his lips and silently hand gestured to pay attention.

Carol closed the book and Luke asks if he should go take watch. Take watch for what? I bend forward and I'm worried Luke will spot us. I grab the closest thing to me, which happens to be Carl's hand. I instantly try to reclaim it, but his stays firm around mine. He lets out a shaky breath. Air stops its exchange in my lungs as Luke passes by cluelessly. I force myself to exhale and focus on Carol again. She turns around and grabs a box.

Patrick stands up, "Ma'am, I'm not feeling well, may I be dismissed?"

"Patrick," Carol draws her lips together with disapproval, "just because we don't feel well doesn't mean the world stops being dangerous. We have to push through."

"With all due respect ma'am, I don't wanna yack on anyone." Patrick blushes slightly. Carol nods and Patrick gets up and rushes off, not paying us any mind. A lump forms in my throat. Whatever it is, it made Patrick nervous enough to leave.

"Today we're learning how to use knives. How to slash and stab-" I don't listen to anymore. I'm shocked, so they'll shelter them from the truth, but they'll train them? Like child soldiers? This place is no better than Woodbury. My chest seizes up, and I can't breathe, but this time for a different reason. I trusted this place! I trusted these people! Dad said it was different, but isn't, not really.

I take one look at Carl and something tells me that this isn't supposed to be happening. Before I can think anything through, Carl has released my hand and he was on his feet, standing, facing Carol. I'm still cationic with shock, all I can manage to do is watch. The way Carl's hand nervously balled up smacking against his leg. He just stares, and Carol sees him now. He swallows hard and reaches down for my hand, pulling me up, and he walks. And I follow, because I think I'll start screaming if I stay here any longer.

"This is bullshit." Carl growls, shaking his head as we walk down the hallway. I let go of his hand, but I don't walk away. I can't, never before have Carl and I talked so much in one day, and I don't think I can drop it now.

His eyes are wide and hurt, "You get this? Don't you?"

I nod, I'm lost for words, I could just admit to watching and observing everything, but that might be considered SLIGHTLY creepy.

"I see it, you know, the way they treat you. They treat me the same way. And it's bullshit. You know what's out there. I know what's out there. Why do they try to hide it. And then, teach them HOW TO USE KNIVES." Carl's brow is deeply furrowed and his teeth are gritted. His jaw is so set that I'm afraid it might break. His eyes are alive and roaring with that fire that only wants to prove itself. I want to agree with him, but fueling the fire. It needs to be tended, tamed, so instead I take a deep breath and meet his eyes calmly. An angry Carl gets us nowhere

"I'm sure your dad doesn't know. I bet the rest of the Council doesn't either." My voice is soft and gentle.

"I did what I had to do! And... And they punish me for it!" And I get it now, this isn't about the knives anymore. He's venting.

"Carl,"

"I'm fine! Those kids are the sick ones!" I think he's near crying.

"I know you're good Carl. You aren't lost. You try, I see that. Every day." Words are coming out before I can control them.

"You do?" His voice cracks and he is looking me dead in the eyes. My voice catches in my throat and I only nod.

After a moment, I find my voice, "Why don't you wear the hat anymore?"

He cocks his head at me, and then exhales exhaustedly, "It's not a farming hat,"

I raise one eyebrow and counter, "But you aren't a farming boy, now are you?" On that note I turn on my heels and leave.

I head out to the pavilion and wait for Carol. I sit at a table with my chin on my hands. The crew on the run still hasn't come back, and it's starting to get late.

Carol walks up behind me and rests a hand on my shoulder, "You can't tell anyone, it has to stay a secret."

I don't reply, instead I stand and walk to where we make the food, "What do we need to do for dinner."

"Well Hershel brought us these cucumbers, and there's still some leftover venison. And I guess whatever the crew brings back will have to do. So if you could get to peeling the cucumbers, that would be good." Carol begins to do what she needs to, and neither of us brings up the knives again.

For the life of me, I've never peeled anything. But I figure it can't be hard. So I start in the middle and I go all the way around, I cut off the ends and then slice up the cucumbers sliding them into a bowl as I go. Onto the next one, everything is very systematic and soon I'm finished.

I eat dinner next to Patrick like I always do and Carl acts like nothing is wrong. Maybe it's not. Maybe I'm misimagining things. I go back to observing, because everything seemed right that way, can't screw anything up if I don't speak.

I watch Patrick and Carl interact, and they seem so natural. Patrick says something funny, and Carl's eyes glow with glee, his eyes crinkle at the corners and he laughs as he puts down another mouthful of cucumbers. His head tilts back slightly with the laugh and then once Carl swallows he gives Patrick a snappy reply. Which Patrick starts to laugh, but gets caught off by a coughing fit. Carl smacks him on the back and he seems to get over it. He shortly after excuses himself. Carl and I exchange glances and he opens his mouth to say something, but he's cut off by Karen calling that they're back. But her call is quickly overwhelmed by the drone of Walkers, moaning for food. They've definitely been building up in size for weeks now. Even with the constant shift of people gouging out the remaining life those Walkers had. I jump up and start sprinting to the prison entrance, Carl following closely behind. The cars pull to a stop and I stand in front of them, panting viciously. I wipe my brow that's beaded with sweat. And slowly everyone piles out and Daryl dismounts his motorcycle and he walks over to me. My gut drops. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. Daryl and I don't normally talk to each other; he just hadn't ever taken much of a liking to me. Carl senses something wrong too. His hand rests on my shoulder, a silent gesture to say that he's still here.

"Sam, it's... your dad."

I know now, there ain't a point in asking. And I look around me, but I don't recognize anything. I am lost.


	6. Sick

Some words don't mean the same thing they used to. But 'sick' isn't one of them. It's always been here and always will. But there are different kinds of sick. There are the sick that cough and there the sick that kill. But I think I'm a different kind of sick. A new kind.

I feel like I'm going to throw up, but I also feel like my stomach is empty. I feel empty. I feel numb. I wanna curl into a ball and die but I also wanna run away until my legs stop working. So I meet in the middle and stand paralyzed, staring at Daryl.

"He sacrificed himself to save Bob. It was too late for Zack though. He did a good thing. He was a good man. I'm sorry kid." Daryl looks tired, not as much physically, rather he's tired of losing people.

I see him, Bob, the new guy. Why does he get to live?! Why not my dad! Bob didn't have anyone. And now neither do I.

I want to scream at him that he deserves to be dead and he shouldn't be here now, but instead, my chest heaves and I can't hold back the pain anymore. Tears form in my eyes and streak down my cheeks. I run, but not away. Just to my cell. I slam the prison door shut and then my curtain. I curl up on my bunk and wrap the sleeping bag around me.

Desperation boils in my gut and spreads up to my throat and it chokes me. This isn't real. This can't be real. I throw the sleeping bag to the ground. I'm still choking. My hands claw at my throat trying to relieve the invisible pressure. I'm insane. Or at least headed that way. After a while I lose all energy and I stop writhing and I'm just lying there. Panting, in a cold sweat. My eyelids droop and I pass out from exhaustion.

"Sam?" I hear a voice and I don't recognize it at first and I think it's my dad and I'm excited because he came back for me. Then it calls again and the pain of losing him drowns me all over again. Then there's a coughing fit.

"Patrick!" I sit up, and I jump down, I stumble, and I slide open the sheet. I don't open the door though, something tells me not to. He looks awful. His shirt is doused in sweat along with his skin. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.

"I," he breaks out in another fit, "heard about," more coughing, "Your dad."

I nod, choking on my own air. I can't think about this now, Patrick's more important, "You need to like, take a shower, or lay down, or something! You look... Horrible!"

His coughs consume him again and I think he nods. Then he goes stumbling off towards the showers, coughing up his lungs.

I decide I can't stay in my cell any longer. I need my place. So I put on my jacket, I cinch the waist ties and slide my beanie on. I wiggle my fingers through my fingerless gloves and I forgot to remove my boots on from earlier, so I'm ready to go.

One more thing. I tell myself. I open the prison door just enough to get out and leave it cracked. No point in making more noise. I sneak next cell over to my dad's cell, door still open, all belongings where he left them. I grab one of his shirts that he left on the bed. I just need something, anything, to remind me of him again. I leave the cell and creep down the hallway to the outside. I'm not as careful as I should be, hell, I don't even know who's on guard. But I don't think they would stop me from doing anything. It's not like I'm finding the best place to hang myself. I just need to breathe.

I make it to my place without any unforeseen encounters. I cuddle the t-shirt and press it against my face, absorbing the scent I translated to mean safety so long ago. I lie on my back, ignoring the chill that wants to freeze my heart. I study the stars and think about the constellations like my dad taught me. Tears slide down my face again, this time with a much less violent effect. I just lie silently and occasionally I let out a shallow, sobbing breath.

I know death is inevitable, especially in the world we live in today, but it's sudden and unforeseen all the same. I had him when we lost Mom and Noah, and now I have nothing except his t-shirt and the spirits that linger in my mind as aid.

The longer I lie there, the more I realize I want Carl to find me. To hold my hand and tell me that it'll be ok even though it never is. But then I lie there longer still and I know he isn't coming. He has better things to worry about than me.

I hope his dad made it home ok. I'd like to think we aren't BOTH orphans now. Orphan, that's what I am, an orphan.

He'd want me to go, I know he would, and I will. I have to. We can't just stop anymore. People die every day, and maybe you can't just swallow it like medicine, but it mends like a scar. A permanent reminder that has healed.

But I will stop, just for tonight, and relish the things he taught me and the fond memories we share. Only I have them now, and I must carry them on. Yes. I will do that. Because he'd do that for me.

At some point, the scent on his shirt lulls me to sleep. And I'm jolted awake by the screams of many and a more vivid one that screams "Walkers in D!"

It's daylight, but still pretty early. Moving now would give away my place. And I've already had so much taken from me. My hand goes to where my knife is. SHIT. The one thing I forgot. So I cling to my blankets and try not to think about those whose lives hang in the balance.

My body calls for many things, to run, to help, to stay put. But mostly the first two. It's only instinct after all. But I'm useless without a weapon. And going to place with the weapon requiring while trying to acquire a weapon seems like a bad situation. I'm a despicable human being. I am sick. _Why don't I go help? Because, you can't help. You'd just be walker food. Ain't no point in going. _I'd like to think Dad would agree with my decision, he wouldn't want me in harm's way. But he also wouldn't want me to be a selfish bitch.

_Fine. I'll leave_. _I'll find the ones who've escaped. Is it enough?_ It'll have to be. So, with much more caution I get down, and I leave the shirt. It may be the only one left. I must preserve it. I carefully make my way to the other escapees, Lizzie, Mika, Luke, Carl is over there, with Maggie and Michonne, where's Patrick? Why hasn't he gotten out yet. It's not like he was a particularly good killer. He was so kind though. He'd never hurt a fly. I expected to see more people. Where are the others from Woodbury?

"You're ok," words of relief swamp my ears. I was so busy looking for Patrick, I hadn't noticed Carl approach. That's a first. I blink rapidly and turn toward him, he's caught me off guard alright?

"Yeah, but where's Patrick?" The words slur out of my mouth and I grab at the sleeves of my jacket urgently. My wide eyes meet his wide eyes.

"I... I'm not sure. He's probably just... caught up in there. He'll be ok, he has to be." I don't think he's trying to convince me.

I think about seeing Patrick outside of my cell and I start doing that thing where I choke on my own air again. Observe Sam, just observe.

Lizzie and Mika are huddled next to Luke and all of them are wide eyed and scared. They don't talk, they just watch. It's all any of us can do. Maggie and Michonne are talking in hissed voices and Michonne is leaning to one side and one ankle is bloody. What...what happened?

And then my attention goes to Carl. There's something that's changed. Same magnificent blue eyes, same long, sweaty dark brown locks, but now. The sheriff hat is pushed onto his sweaty head. Among all the fear and dread and loss and pain, a faint smile forms on my face. Carl catches it, and nothing has to be asked or reviewed. He smiles back faintly.

I feel the warmth of his fingers lacing through mine in some unspoken agreement. We wait together. Maybe an eternity goes by while we wait for the others to emerge from D Block.

There aren't screams anymore, just the drone of Walkers who are protesting not getting to join in on the fun. People are coming out now, Woodbury people, children. And then Carol, she takes Lizzie and Mika inside. Whatever they're doing, it can't be good. We wait a while longer.

And then I see a face. Rick. He's alive. Oh thank God he's alive. Carl's hand leaves mine the instant after I identify Rick and he's tackling his father in a hug an instant later. Something is wrong, because Rick is reluctant to hug his son back. He said something before Carl made it to him, but it didn't register in my mind. After a moment, Rick embraces his boy. Still no Patrick, a lump forms in my throat.

I look past Rick and Carl expectantly. I notice Rick forces Carl to step back. Carl says something about using a gun and Michonne justifies it. Rick doesn't seem too bothered. You do what you have to. Rick isn't stupid, he knows this. Rick asks Michonne if she's ok, Michonne nods and Maggie asks the question that all burns in our minds. What happened? Rick starts to speak, and this time I listen, full on, I move my head and everything. A woman walks by, grieving her lost child. The lump grows.

"Patrick got sick last night. Some kind of flu, it moves fast. We think he died and attacked the cell block last night." No, the lump is choking me now. It can't be true. Patrick can't be dead. He just can't. But he can. I saw him. He was bad. Real bad. I just didn't realize how bad. If I had known, no if I hadn't been so SELFISH. Stop. I tell myself, you can't blame yourself now. It's done. The past is in the past.

But he was sick. And so am I. The only difference is I'm alive and he's not.


	7. Real

Sometimes you have dreams that you wish were real. Where everything is so fanatically wonderful and amazing that you actually believe it could be real. But other times you wish the real stuff was a dream. And you try and try and to wake up, because everything seems so wrong and it only seems to get worse the longer you go on, and you really start to believe that it's a dream. But at some point you come to terms. Because it's real. This is all real.

Carl looks at his dad in disbelief. Not Patrick. Please not Patrick. Rick tries to calm Carl down, but even from a distance, I can see his shoulders sink and he begins to curl up slightly. Then he straightens back up. I just want to walk up to him and give the poor kid a hug. Patrick was his best friend, he was mine too. But I'm not looking half as bad as Carl. Maybe my grief is just numbed out, I can't feel any worse, I'm at my max for pain. Because I feel like between the loss of my two closest counterparts I should be done. But instead I'm just thinking about the boy in his sheriff hat.

He was there for me, shouldn't I be there for him? Before I can stop myself, I'm walking, next thing I know my hand is on Carl's shoulder. I'm not being intrusive, I'm just there. A silent reminder.

He turns around slowly, and I take a small step backward. But he takes one forward. And slowly almost reluctantly, as if he's nervous about what he's doing, but he also doesn't care at the same, his arms wrap around me in a hug. I'm caught off guard for a moment, but I unstiffen and hug him back. My heart pounds nervously in my chest, and Carl's chin rests on my shoulder and he shakes a little as he lets out a sob. I swallow roughly, and run my hand gently over his back.

His shuddering breath flutters against my ear for a moment, and then Rick speaks again and so he pulls away, turning to face his dad.

"I know he was your friend," Rick crouches just enough to look Carl in the eye, but Carl's head is hanging and he lets out another shuddering breath. I nearly reach out for him again, but instead I hold my wrist and just try and breathe.

"He was a good kid," Rick continues, "We lost a lot of good people." But how many? The question burns desperately in my mind. How many have we lost, how many have we left, and how long can we hold on?

Rick stands back up and his attention is off Carl now, onto Maggie, "Glenn and your dad are ok," he reassures her, "But they were in there." Maggie nods, releasing a undeniable sigh of relief, "ya shouldn't get too close to anyone who might've been exposed." Rick warns us, he scans all of our faces, even mine, "at least for a while."

Carl grabs my hand and we run over to Michonne.

"Carl, all of you," he nods at us and we help Michonne away. Rick is zoned out now, staring at the ground, hands resting on his hips, worried about what he's gonna do.

As we walk to C Block, I can tell Carl is trying to hide his disorientation. I know, because I'm hiding mine too. I think I'm doing better though. This disorientation can only be associated with the loss of someone close to you. It makes my fingers shake and my breaths forced. By the time we get Michonne to Beth, I'm helping Carl as much as he's helping Michonne. We start to disband at Michonne's cell, I release Carl's hand, and I begin to walk back to D. But I can't go there. Even my home has been wrecked. Suddenly I'm very glad I left my dad's shirt at my place.

So instead I head to the pavilion, hoping to find Carol. There must be something I can do.

But all that is interrupted, "Sam! Hey, wait up! Please," his voice cracks on the word please. And I stop and I turn around. He's walking my way, and his eyes are foggy with pain. What does he want with me? What could he possibly want with me? My eyes meet his sad ones. And he half runs the rest of the way. His hand takes hold of mine like he never intends to let go. "Let's go to your place." His voice is still shaky and broken. But it's his and it's real. He's real. I nod, alright, whatever will make him feel better.

"We'll have to be careful." I tell him, trying to keep my tone light.

He sniffs and clears his throat, a slight smirk fights for a place on his grief stricken face, "I'm very careful." His eyes roll slightly, and the smirk becomes more prominent.

"No clumsy Carls allowed, now." I shake a scolding finger and he actually laughs.

"Alright," his voice squeaks a little. Ah puberty. I can imagine it's done this boy justice. After all, one isn't simply born with that a nice face and wonderfully deep voice. Wait. Did I just think that?

"I'll try my best," his smirk is back to its usual melting fullness. His eyes are just barely crinkled at their corners. And I almost forget that I'm grieving and he is too. Sometimes, grief buries you. But other times, you have to bury grief.

We masterfully sneak up to my place and it's a lot different during the day. But I must say, the view is enjoyable.

I take off my jacket, because it's too warm in the day's direct sunlight.

"How can it be sunny on a day like this?" Carl demands, "It shouldn't be sunny and bright when we've lost so many. Patrick, your dad." His attention goes completely to me as he realizes his slip up.

My heart feels stabbed at the reminder. His hip is pressed up against mine, because the platform isn't very big. My hand and Carl's are still one. I draw my knees to my chest and wrap the free arm around my legs, resting my chin on my knees. The pain balls up in my chest and a distorted choking noise escapes my mouth before I can stop it.

Carl bites down hard on his lip, "God Sam. I'm sorry. I'm just so stupid sometimes." I shake my head, "I can't believe I feel half a right to pain and weakness and you lost your dad. Your family."

I shake my head again, "He was your best friend. You're entitled to grief."

"He was yours too." Carl's words are barely a whisper.

I nod and a shuddering exhale blows past my lips.

I swallow hard, and use my free hand to wipe the tears that have started to form with the heel of my palm, "Why did you become a farmer in the first place?" I ask, changing the subject. I'm not too fond of being the center of attention. I'd rather be there for other people.

"Because my dad wanted me to. And I couldn't let him down," his voice drops to where I can just barely hear it, "not again."

Again? How did he let down Rick the first time? "Yesterday, you said you did what you had to. But what, exactly, did you do?"

Carl's bright blue eyes are red with tears that have already fallen, and that might fall some more if he continues. I'm about to tell him he doesn't have to say anything, but then he does, "I killed someone. Not a walker, a human. A living breathing human, with a soul, and a sense of pain, and a family. Me. I did it. It was real." His eyes are scared, like he's worried how I'll take it. But how can I take it? He did it. It's done. It can't be changed. It was real. This is real. There's no waking up. But somehow, even through the pain and the loss and the misery of reality, I managed to find a good. And the good has done bad things. But who hasn't? At least he recognizes it. I see it in his eyes, he knows it's wrong what he's done. And that's ok. He's good, he's my good. And for the first time in days, I'm almost glad this is real.


	8. Monsters

There are monsters everywhere. There are the obvious ones, that are out to devour the flesh of the living. But there are also the less obvious ones, the ones inside ourselves. They tell us to do bad things, things that are not us. They make us do things we aren't proud of and try to us into monsters. No one is without these monsters, for if not, we wouldn't be human.

I tell Carl this. And while he looks relieved, he also looks shocked. Well and truly shocked. "That was... deep." his brow furrows, and a whole new light claims his eyes as they study me.

"Is that a problem?" I look at him inquisitively

"No," he shakes his head

"You hesitated," I lift a teasing eyebrow

He cheeks flush, "No I didn't." he looks flustered, but his eyes are still bright, "There's nothing wrong with it, it was just... unexpected." his eyes dart nervously, "Not to say you can't be deep. It's just, you're normally so quiet, I just... Ah forget it." His entire face is red now.

"Being quiet leaves a lot of time to think." I shrug. He nods and I'm still very aware of his hand intertwined with my mine, and the exact pressure of his body next to mine. And I'm also thinking about my messy hair and my dirty clothes and body which is overdue for a shower, but shit happens.

I think about Patrick again and how good he was and how impossibly nice and sweet he was to everyone, "The good ones never last. Only the bad and the weak survive. Patrick had too much good to live in this world." The words bleed out of my mind and through my mouth, releasing into the air. I pause for a moment and consider telling Carl. How I saw Patrick in his last moments, the last one he spoke to. I saw Patrick before he died and did nothing to help. My arms start to shake uncontrollably. I can't do it. I'm scared Carl will reject me for it. That he'll hate me because I was too selfish to try and get Patrick to someone to who could've saved him, saved everyone. I'm terrified any bond we had will be shattered. All because my monsters made me ignore the obvious. _I have monsters too, can't you see Carl? It's not just you_. I don't say anything.

I rest my head back on my knees, and I wrap my one free arm tightly around my legs, trying to control the shaking, "I understand what you're going through, with your dad and all."

I look at him with confusion for a moment, but then I remember the stories that have gone around the prison. Why Beth tends to Judith, the baby that's not her own. The way Carl looks at Judith with such love only a proud older brother can provide.

His mom, Carl lost his mom.

He gears up for another story that I'm scared will break him, and I want to stop him, I really do, but he's already beginning before I can.

"It was nearly a year ago I lost my mom. Out of all the things this damn world could've taken her with, it had to be child birth." He grits his teeth, his eyes blink hard with images of the past, "I was there, I had to put her down." His voice chokes up, and I grimace. I can't figure out for the life of me why he's doing this to himself. Letting all of the pain bleed out. But sometimes, you just have to be sad. And I guess this is his way to let it out.

My voice is low and I can't control its shakiness, "At least you got to say goodbye." I never had that with any of my family.

He nods, his tone somber, "I did have that much."

"You had your dad." I tell him. His gaze drifts off.

He swallows and his sneakers push against my boots, trying to distract himself. "My dad, he used to be leader before my mom died. And... He kind of lost it when she did. He saw things that weren't there. He heard things." I look at Carl in disbelief. Maybe he does get it. He lost his mom and his dad in a way. I think about Rick and I know he's not a farmer either. The Grimes' men are fighters, not farmers. I let go of his hand and I wrap my arms around his lean chest.

I feel his heart beat rapid against my ear, and his arms embrace me too, after I moment I speak up, "We should be getting back. And I think you should talk to your dad. About Carol and the knives. He needs to know." I let go and I stand up, offering Carl a hand.

Carl takes my hand and we're face to face again, he hands me my jacket, and I take it. Our fingers brush for a moment, "I know what I said, but I think they should continue. I've thought about it, and I think the kids should be able to protect themselves like we did. But I also don't think they should bullshit them into believing everything's ok." His eyebrows are knit with seriousness. And I nod, agreeing. We climb down and part ways for real this time.

I find the pavilion empty and decide that food must be being served in the mess hall for dinner. I open a thick door with a hard, quick pull and step into the hallway. Its winding mysteries make the air cooler than the outside and I slide on my jacket again. My footsteps echo throughout the silent coordinator, I have to think my way through to access the mess hall. I follow the dark and dank hallways until there's a light at the end of the hallway and I almost run to grab open the door. These hallways have always been a bit eerie, but to think that Patrick wandered them to the showers makes my stomach churn.

When I reach the mess hall, I close the door behind me and I walk over to the swinging doors to enter the kitchen. I find Carol at a sink, there's some cans stacked on a counter and the window to the mess hall is open. The gray is overwhelming. Gray like the polo Patrick used to wear. Carol is working alone now, that Patrick's gone. My chest heaves at the weight of everything piling up, but I force it back down. I'm supposed to help Carol, those were Dad's words. I can at least respect his last wishes, can't I?

My heart feels like it's in my throat and I swallow hard so that I can speak, "What do you need help with?" I walk up beside her. She stands about two or three inches taller than me. Her gray hair is messy and she's washing her hands, trying to clean them of blood and memory. I recall her emerging from D Block, the heart of the attack and taking Lizzie and Mika back in with her. I wonder what they saw.

"You shouldn't be here," Carol chastises me, wiping her hands dry on a dish rag. Her worn blue-gray eyes study me with concern, "I'm exposed, you aren't safe."

"I was around Patrick," I shake my head at her, "I'll be fine, you can't do this on your own."

She gives me a disapproving look and lets out a sigh, the corners of her mouth pulled tightly, "You can open up the cans over there. Five should be enough now." the word 'now' hangs dead in the air like the people it implies.

My work is fast and quick, and soon the beans are in the pot and before too long their cooked up. Carol sets out the bowls and the spoons and I take my share and head to the spot I'd normally take. I sit alone now, without Patrick as company, and I'm left to my own thoughts again.

The mess hall is one of the largest areas of the prison, in terms of open spaces. Like everything else, it's gray and depressing. Late evening light seeps through a window foggy with grime and time. There are tables with attached seats. In total there are around fifteen tables with six seats attached to each. There's an observation tower connected to the wall in the middle of the room. I can't recall it ever being used for our purposes. Facing me, about 25-30 feet away is the kitchen area. There's the window that we distribute the food from and has iron bars that can slide down to protect the kitchen staff, back when this place held prisoners. I'd like to say dangerous people, but we've got plenty of those. About five feet from the window are the swinging doors to enter the kitchen. The kitchen itself is obscured by a wall that makes it unseen, save through the window. To the left of the kitchen wall is the way I walked in from the hallway. At the other end of the mess hall is a door that extends to the C Block.

I used to think that the prison mess hall was like a high school cafeteria. Where each group of people had their own table and they kept to it. Now, there is still some similarity, but now the room isn't loud and warm with conversation, but cold and somber like the dank hallways. We're missing so many, and now we're separated, the exposed and the clean. This is as much instruction as we've been given thus far, but I fear more is soon to come.

Rick, Carol, Hershel, Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn claim one table, normally Tyreese or Sasha would join them, but now Tyreese sits by himself, and Sasha isn't anywhere to be seen. I look at Tyreese again, alone? Tyreese is never alone. Where's Karen? Then I notice his black eye, and his fatigue stricken face. The dirt on his hands, the sweat that soaks his shirt, the way his one good eye scans the crowd of us suspiciously. Something is wrong. Then I notice Rick, he maintains one eye on Tyreese while he shovels down another spoonful of Pork 'n Beans with a bandaged hand. My brow furrows further, but I tell myself it isn't my business, and if I needed to know, I would.

On my side of the hall, Beth holds Judith at a table with Carl, Hershel, Lizzie, Mika, and Luke. If there was an empty spot, I'd be tempted to move. But another thing alarms me, why would Lizzie and Mika sit with Carl? Why not their dad. Unless. And then it hits me. I'm not the only orphan.

Along with Sasha, David and Dr. S are missing as well. Bob sits at a table with survivors that didn't come from Woodbury and a deep rooted hatred boils at me and I can't look at him for too long without wanting to shove my spoon in his eye. There are a couple more tables filled with my fellow Woodbury survivors, and the rest of the seats are only filled with spirits.

After a while, the present Council members and Rick stand.

Hershel speaks first, he was always the most patient, "As you all know too well, there was a break out earlier today. We lost 12, but they were not the only ones. There were two more murdered in cold blood. Karen and David." Tyreese's eyes are cold and dark as they analyze each of us. A wave of shock hits me, though I know it shouldn't, the signs were all there, I was just blind. I clasp a hand over my mouth so that I don't gasp out loud. I wonder for a moment if they'll ask if someone will come forward and admit to it. That's what they'd do in Woodbury, the Governor'd use his nice voice and say _'ain't nobody gonna be in trouble. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding.'_ But that's bullshit, and I'm relieved when they don't try that here.

"These two showed the same signs of the illness that took Patrick. And we've all decided that we can't risk losing anymore." Hershel finishes, and Glenn picks up where he left off.

Glenn shifts back and forth uncomfortably, and casts his wife, Maggie, an apologetic glance, "To try and prevent any further spreading. We're going to try and contain the illness, and quarantine the ones who are most at risk, the children and elderly to the admin building. Any ill, or show signs of ill need to report to A Block immediately." Death row, God, isn't that fitting. Way to boost morale guys.

"The rest of us, just carry on. Work shifts will probably be stepped up to compensate for the lost, but other than that, try and go about your business as normal," Rick finishes, I think the last time I heard Rick give any kind of leader-like speech was when I first arrived on that bus from Woodbury, grieving and afraid. It was good to hear again, almost calming.

They take their seats after that, and dinner goes back to quiet. I know that separating isn't good, but it has to be done. We can't afford to lose anyone else. We all still know the Governor is around.

Once everyone is done, I help Carol with the dishes. And once those are complete, I decide to take a walk. I just need some fresh air before they put me away for who knows how long.

The trees past the prison walls are silhouetted by the late orange light. Above that, the sky glows red and purple, melting into the vast blue which fades darker the farther you look. Thank God this day is finally ending, it's gone on far too long. It feels like eternity since I last watched Carl and Patrick laugh at some stupid joke. Tomorrow's another day, with its own complications and achievements, I sincerely hope the latter will outweigh the former, unlike today.

So as my feet carry me down the gravel driveway toward the fences, I kick up the small pebbles and study the world and all its beauty. But I have to look upward, for if I look down, or even listen to the world, the beauty shall fade. And the ugliness and evil in the world is exposed, revealing its true colors.

It will release its monsters.


	9. Truth and Lies

Sometimes the truth hurts. And maybe, you haven't been telling a lie in place of the truth, but it's still not the truth until you tell it. There are some things that can never become truths because that pain is too much to bear. But there are other times when the pain will be over soon enough that telling would be worth it. Otherwise, you just live a lie.

Before herding us into the admin building, they make the quarantined take showers, as to cleanse us of what can be cleansed. They do try to separate us some, the boys and Hershel on one side of the showers and us girls on the other. I'm easily the second oldest, but Beth has to bathe Judith so that puts me in charge. Most of them, save Lizzie and Mika, don't really understand why we separate in the first place and don't want to stand in what little cubicles are given. They scamper around naked and I'm scared one will slip on the tile floor and bust open their head. Finally, I manage to get them clean and redressed. Beth takes them back to the admin building, telling me she'll be back once she puts down Judith and I'm finally alone.

I have to borrow clothes until the exposed can collect the belongings from my cell and wash them. I'm stuck with one of Beth's shirts and a loose pair of cut offs. They sit neatly stacked on one side of the shower area, atop an old bench and I quickly strip, leaving my dirty clothes in a small pile. I want to rush this shower because I'm deathly afraid of someone walking in on me. What would I do? Curl up in a ball and try to hide myself? But I can't rush, because it's been so long since the warm pulse of water pattered against my soiled skin. It's soothing to my filthy body. I scrub the oil and dirt from my hair and let the grime roll off my body with a newly applied layer of soap. I clean out the dirt beneath my nails and then I stand with my back facing the shower head, content with its constant rhythm.

But then I think about Patrick again and how he died in these showers, my throat begins to close up, and I have to turn off the shower and sit down, so I don't do anything stupid like collapse. I bite down so hard on my tongue I taste the bitter blood.

Once I've calmed down enough, I towel off and run my fingers through my hair. The shirt is soft to the touch and worn from time. It's a faded yellow polo and I can still see faint blood stains. I gulp and slip on the dark jean cut offs, which graze the tops of my knees and are a little loose in the thighs. I put on high socks that wouldn't normally show, but I don't normally wear shorts. I lace up my Docs and let my hair soak my shirt. I don't put my beanie, gloves, or jacket.

I start to think about the others collecting my belongings and my gut drops at what I know they'll find. I push past the showering curtains and I listen to the words that echo throughout the room.

"I'm gonna get these kids back to the cell. Now Carl, just come on when you're ready, son," Hershel says with his patient, even tone. I hear the younger boys squeal and run ahead and then slight gait of Hershel. After a few moments, I determine the shape of Carl on the other side of the curtain. I reach through and snatch his shoulder pulling him over to me. I clasp my hand over his mouth, in case he freaks out.

His eyes are wide and scared like a deer, and then once they meet mine, they relax and he pulls away from my hand, "What the hell?" his eyes narrow slightly and he cocks his head at me.

"I need your help," I tell him.

"Can't it wait?" his eyes nod downward at his body and I realize his shirt is balled in his hands and his chest is bare, glistening with shower water. In my small moment of studying his chest, I see a scar on the upper right side of his chest, a pink ring with a long slash, not matching the shade of the rest of his pale torso. There it is, the mythical scar, another commonly told story around here, though I've never heard Carl's version.

My eyes go wide and my head bobs back up to meet his eyes, "Yeah, I mean, shirts are optional," internally my jaw drops and I'm flipping out. _Who said I was allowed to say that? That did not pass the board! _"I mean, uh, get your shirt on Grimes, we got shit to do." my cheeks flush and Carl laughs. It fills my ears and I turn even more red. I give him a shy smile and turn on my heels. "Just tell me when you're ready."

I go and sit back down on the bench, kicking up my feet idly and letting my heel bounce when it hits the tile floor. After a few moments I hear his footsteps, then the shower curtain shifting, then I see him in my peripherals. I stand and try and look at him, "Ready?"

"Nah, I'm just gonna back over there, I was just kidding," he extends his thumb over his shoulder, and turns around. I let out a sigh and pull his arm along and he lets out a chuckle.

"So what exactly are you pulling me into?" Carl asks, quite literally I might add.

"We're gonna pay old cell block a visit," I look around vaguely, I hold him back as I stick my head out into the hallway and make sure no one is coming.

"What?" he pulls me back abruptly, his voice dropping to a whisper, "That's in D. That's where the flu is."

I cut him an annoyed glance, "Come on, rebel, you know you want to." I nudge him with my shoulder. He nudges me back, and rolls his eyes.

"Can you at least tell me what we're getting?" He gives me an exasperated look.

Now here comes the hard part. The one I've been dreading. The part I was hoping I'd get to skip. But Carl isn't stupid, he wouldn't go into something blind.

"Well you see," I bit on my lips, searching for the right words, "I sort of have this collection. And I... I don't really want the others to find it when they clean out my cell."

"What, are you like a food hoarder?" Carl chuckles and the corners of his eyes start to crinkle.

"More like a book hoarder." Carl cocks his head, "I don't just think up all these deep, philosophical things on my own you know. I have help."

"Like how much help?" He leans forward.

"40-45." I shrug after a moment of thought. My collection has steadily grown

His eyes go huge, "You're joking,"

My lower jaw sticks out with considering, frown-like thing, "Nope."

"Well I guess you do need me," Carl nods decidedly.

"That's one way to put it," I shrug meekly. We're running out of time. Beth will back soon, Judith doesn't take too long to put down.

"Come on, you, I don't have time for your sass." I grab his hand, I do a quick check of the hallway, "Better hold onto your hat." I push the felt hat down further on his damp locks. Then I take off running, pulling Carl behind me. He catches on and I'm not pulling him for long. We're running down the hallway and the cold, stale air hits the back of my throat and I have to stop once we reach an intersection, Carl slams into me and I cut him a displeased look. I peek around the corner, and his rapid breathing is loud in my ear.

Once I'm sure the coast is clear, we head left and it's a short jog with quick feet to reach D Block. It's abandoned of course, but I can still smell decaying corpse and death. I bite hard on my tongue, there's the blood again. But it's also over there, by that cell, and there, drying on the staircase. I squeeze Carl's hand so hard I'm afraid he'll lose circulation. But I don't care. I need to know there's someone alive here with me. He squeezes back, I think he's thinking the same thing. His hand is warm, intertwined with mine. I can feel the slight roughness of forming calluses, but also some smooth places. I think about how my own hand must feel, I hope I'm not sweating or anything gross like that.

We walk into the block and then ascend the stairs, the second one on the right. Like always. The door is still mostly closed and appears to be the least disturbed. The door creaks open and I let go of Carl's hand. He stays outside and I go in. My sleeping bag still a messy blob on the floor. There's my knife, on the bottom bunk. I quickly snap the hostler around my waist. Not leaving that ever again. Then I get on my knees, and grab my backpack from underneath the bottom bunk and begin filling it with books. When I can fit no more, I start piling them up in my arms and carry them over to Carl and he extends his arms out and I drop them. He jolts a little from the unexpected weight.

"Ever heard of _light_ reading?" He groans

"Ah, but that's no fun," I smirk and I turn around, back into the cell. I grab the remaining books, throwing the full backpack over my shoulder. Christ, that's heavy. I make sure everything looks the same as it when we arrived, down to the amount the cell door was cracked.

"Where did you get all these books?" He asks as we reach the D Block door.

Yup. Here it comes. I can't live this lie anymore, "I procure them... From various... Sources..."

It's not much of a lie to live, but when you live in a place where everything is donated for the better of the group, it's not good.

"Such as?" Carl shifts the weight of the books around.

"Well some are from Woodbury, and a few are even mine from before the world fell apart. But the most recent ones, I've found on the runs I used to do. And I've burrowed some of my favorite books from the library."

"You mean stole?" Carl pops a playful eyebrow.

"_Borrow_." I tell him, which is mostly the truth.

"Jesus Sam, don't you think you could return some of these?" We're in the long hallway where we ran.

"But I like them. And it's not like anyone'll miss 'em." my cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. Carl lets out a sigh and shakes his head at me with a smirk.

"You won't tell? I trust you ya know." my worried eyebrows raise at him.

"Your secret's safe with me," his brilliant blue eyes are soft and almost lazy as they gaze into mine, and the smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, "but where are we gonna put all these." He shifts the weight of the books again and we pass the showers, I can hear the echo of Beth singing softly to herself, I catch the tune, The Parting Glass, it's pretty and sweet. Carl's eyes start to glaze over with memories and I look over at him with concern. It passes quickly and we're at the end of the hallway. We make a right and then a left before Carl speaks again.

"So, got anymore secrets you wanna tell me?" He's looking at me again and my knees feel like jelly.

"No." Truth.

But he can see through me, "Got anymore secrets I need to know?"

"No." Lie.


	10. Names

Names have been identifiers from the start. We call things names so we know what they are. I'm Sam, 15 year old, walker killing, book enthusiast. That's how people know me. When they think Sam they think of me. Or, people who know me at least. And then there's Walkers, named not by individual, but as a group, a flesh eating, monstrous, group. When you say walker, people know EXACTLY what you're talking about. And that's the nice thing about names, they don't change. You can have multiple names, or you can have just one. But they're names just the same.

We manage to make it into the admin building without getting caught. We find a small, abandoned office and store the books in the desk. Carl sits down on the worn, brown carpet and sets his stack of books on the ground. I'm organizing the books so that I'll know where they'll be. My Harry Potter collection is in the bottom right drawer, along with The Hobbit and Catch 22. Then I have all my biographies in the upper left drawer. I crouch down as I put my young adult novels in the bottom left. I lose my balance for a moment and Carl catches me, his hand stretching out, palm flat against the small of my back. I straighten back out, and I shift positions, so a silly mistake doesn't happen like that again. His hand is gone now, but the spot still tingles from where his hand was. My butt rests against my calves and my toes push onto the ground.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carl looking at one of my old books. Little House on the Prairie, my heart aches. Mom gave me that from when she was a kid. The cover is yellowed and in tatters, but still good. Carl uses two fingers to delicately open the book. His eyes narrow as he reads the words inside. But he's not reading the book. It's the inscription, I know it.

"Property of Samantha Wilkins. No boys can read!" Carl laughs at the last part, "Guess this makes me a rule breaker, _Samantha_." I've never really cared for my real name, but the way it rolls off Carl's tongue, a girl could get used to that.

I let out a slightly forced laugh, "I was pretty young when I wrote that," I steal the copy from his hands.

"Hey, I was going to read that!" He protests playfully, even with only a sliver of moonlight illuminating the room, I can see his bright blue eyes gleaming.

"Rules are rules," I shake a scolding finger at him.

"But I'm a rebel," his daring eyebrows pop up at the challenge. Only quoting my own words.

"Too bad." I turn my head away from him quickly, my damp hair flipping slightly in the process. I put the Laura Ingalls collection in the top left drawer with a few other classics.

Soon all my books are in order, and it's late. My eyes are sagging, but if I stay here, it'll be easier to find my books. So I push myself to my feet, and extend a hand to Carl, who tipped his hat over his eyes a long time ago. I nudge him softly with my foot. His head jerks up and it takes him a second to put two and two together.

He takes my hand and I pull him up. I wonder if they went looking for us, I wonder if they're still up, I wonder if they even care. I shake my head slightly, it doesn't matter. We exit the office and head down the hall, a couple rooms down on the right. I hear where the younger kids are sleeping, by their soft, even breathing, not in sync with any other. A few rooms further to the left, there's Judith's crib, and Beth, who's now asleep in the corner on a pallet. The room next door has Hershel, but he's not asleep.

_Shit._

We step back and Carl squeezes my hand, then releases it and goes alone into the room, they exchange unintelligible words. Carl reappears a few moments later with 2 blankets and 2 pillows, he nods to the room across the hall. We go in and Carl tosses me a pillow and blanket. I instantly go to the corner and curl up into the blue blanket, which is warm and thick. I face out from the wall and study Carl, who sets up a few feet away. My eyelids start to droop, and soon it's just black.

That night I have a nightmare about my dad dying. Only this time I'm there. He and the crew he went with are running, running from walkers and it's like I'm watching the film of my dad's death. I'm there and I can see it, but I'm also not running and I can't do anything but watch. They keep running and then Bob trips. He yells and the others turn around, but only my dad goes to him. He pulls him up and Bob shoots him in the calf. My dad screams and I feel the pain in my own leg. My dad goes to the ground and Bob yells, "Someone has to be walker bait!" As he and the others run off, and then I'm screaming at them to come back and help them. But they can't hear me and it's too late anyway. A walker sinks his teeth into my dad's torso and pulls out red flesh. I scream again and tears are streaming down my face. I can't watch anymore, I shut my eyes. And when they open again, I'm in the admin building with my blanket tangled in my legs and a cold sweat pouring down my back.

I realize that I was shaken awake and I see Carl at last. His eyes are wide and scared, "Are you ok? You were mumbling and crying in your sleep."

I nearly tackle that boy in a hug, my arms wrap greedily around him and I have two fistfuls of his t-shirt in my hands. His arms wrap tightly around me, but his aren't trembling like mine are. They're strong and safe and my heart rate is nearly back to normal after a few moments. I realize there are still tears on my cheeks and I let go of Carl and wipe them away with the heel of my hand. I sit back on my knees. And my chest is still heaving and I take in shaky, uneven breaths.

One of his hands stretch out and tuck a loose strand of my dull honey hair behind my ear, "Are you gonna be okay?" I sniffle a little and nod.

"It's ok, I have them too," his voice is soft and reassuring.

I know it's stupid, but I don't care, "Can you just... stay?" My voice is uneven, but Carl gets the message. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah," is all he says, but that's ok. He doesn't go back to a few feet away, he just sits with his back against the wall and I lean against him. For such a lanky kid, he makes a good pillow. His left arm is hesitant, but it makes its way to my left shoulder and it holds me close.

"So can I call you Samantha?" I'm already half asleep, so his voice is more like an echo. But I think I nod.

"Absolutely not," my voice disagrees with my head.

"Why not?" He's sleepy too, the

But I don't answer, because I'm asleep again. It's a nice sleep this time. I awake with Carl shifting. I turn to him and his eyes are still foggy with sleep. It takes me a second to realize that I slept this close to a boy. Carl for God's sake, and immediately move away, and my cheeks are red. His are too, and his brow knits together slightly, the corner of his mouth tipping up a little, and his head is tilted at an angle.

"I, uh," my face twitches awkwardly trying to think of a decent excuse, "gotta go help with...breakfast." The room is more lit now, so my natural reflex is to believe its morning.

"We're quarantined," Carl reminds me, his tone is heavy, I can tell he hates this too.

"So does that mean we have to starve? No." I shake my head. I stand up and straighten the rumpled polo, I brush off my cut offs and my hair is pointless.

"I'm gonna go see what I can do." I inform and exit the room.

I pop my head into the room where Hershel is staying, he's gone. Hm. I peek into the office where Beth and Judith are staying. Still nothing.

I hear voices in the room where the other kids stayed. Finally, there they are. I walk in causally and hope Carl stayed put.

"Hey y'all," I give a friendly wave; Beth looks up from feeding Judith and smiles. I've always kind of admired Beth, it takes a certain strength to be good and still live in this world. Hershel looks up too. He's been thinking, I recognize that crease in his brow.

"How are you and that boy doing this morning?" Hershel chuckles and raises one bushy white eyebrow, "Don't think I don't know what's going on, you know. I'm old, not blind." There's still a crack of a smile on his face. My cheeks go red and I duck my head.

"I just wanted to see if I could help with anything?" The words come out mumbled and zip out quickly.

"Well, Carol should be coming around with our share of breakfast any time now, I suppose you could go wait for her," Hershel nods to the door. I nod and scurry out the door, my skin still warm from the blush.

I walk down the hallway and then I hear one voice, calling my name.


	11. Waiting

There are a lot of painful things in this world. But sometimes one of the most painful can be waiting. Before flesh eating beasts were a commonality, there was your standard waiting. For a new book to come out, or for 7 months when your favorite TV show would return. But waiting is different now. And I think it's worse. You wait and wait for someone to return, but you never know when something has just snuck up. And your left waiting, for the thing that will never come.

I see Mika at the end of the hall; her eyes are wide and scared. She's waving at me, indicating for me to come quick. I pick up my pace, especially when I realize the room Mika is moving towards is the office with my books. _Shit. Just play dumb, Sam, just play dumb._

"What Mika? What is it?" I don't ask what she's seen, or what she's found. Gotta play it up for the kids.

"It's Lizzie, I think she's sick." Little Mika's voice is shaking, when I'm close enough, she takes my hand, her little fingers grabbing mine. I force myself not to pull away, I'm not that good with kids, but I do what I have to, "I'm scared." She whispers, and then looks into the office. I hear coughing and my heart drops. I push into the room, opening up the partially open door all the way.

Against the desk, there's a girl, drenched and coughing wildly, "Lizzie?" I look at her, she's sweating, just like Patrick. My body wants to shut down. Not today. Not right now. People need me, and I have to do what I can.

"I," her shoulders shake to a coughing rhythm, "I'm fine."

My lips tighten, I've never liked Lizzie, and frankly I think she's a nut case, but no one else deserves to die like Patrick did. I swallow my pride and how I feel about her, "You are definitely not. You have to go to A Block. You heard the orders. Dr. S can make you better. Come on now," I gesture for Lizzie to get up. I can't get too close; I don't wanna get sick too. But she can't get up on her own, not without falling into a coughing fit. So I let go of Mika's hand and tell her to go back to the others, she looks at Lizzie for a moment, eyes sad, but also thoughtful. Then she runs off, poor kid is just scared. I would run too. But I'm 'mature'. I'm older. All lies, but I live them because I'm too weak for the truth.

I help Lizzie to her feet, and I get her to the entrance. Carol has just walked up, I can tell she wants to rush over by the way she pulls forward and then slams herself back.

"Are you both sick?" Carol's lips are tightly drawn. She has indeed brought breakfast, and my stomach rumbles when the scent of food hits my nose.

"No, just her." I shake my head.

"Well then get away from her!" Carol demands, perhaps a bit too harshly, "We don't need you sick too you know." She tries to justify her bluntness, I get it, but Lizzie looks at a tad hurt. I step away and Carol gives me the food. She ushers Lizzie away and tells me to be careful. I push the cart that has the pot of leftover beans with the bowls and the spoons and the water. When I get to the room that everyone was not so long ago I notice some things.

I find two things that are strange. One, Carl hasn't shown up yet. This is justifiable though, frankly because he's Carl Grimes and he does whatever the hell he damn well pleases. And two, Hershel is missing. I mean the man has a prosthetic limb for God's sake, moving around isn't really his strong suit.

Beth is still here though, and the other kids are playing on the old, rugged carpet. They all turn towards me. The smell of food draws them like moths to light.

"Where did your dad go?" My eyes are on Beth. She's standing Judith up on her narrow thighs. Judith's small hands wrapped around one finger on either of Beth's hands. Judith giggles as Beth still bounces her up and down. I crack a smile at Judith's laugh, because it's impossible not to.

"He just left," Beth shrugs, "Said he had stuff to do." Her kind tone is patient like her fathers, "I'm sure everything's fine."

I'm hesitant about the next part, "And Carl?"

Beth cracks a knowing smile for a moment, but then shakes her head, "No, I don't think I've seen him at all this morning."

I grit my teeth, "Ok. Well, do you want me to serve?"

Beth looks at Judith, "If you could. At least start it. I think she's about ready for a nap anyway." She sets Judith down, so now her chubby, baby legs sit straight out in front of her. One hand is still wrapped around Beth's finger, but the other pulls the left finger towards Judith's mouth.

Beth pulls her finger away and shakes her head at Judith ,"Ah, ah, ah. Come on cutie, let's let the big kids eat, ok?" Beth uses an even gentler voice than normal on Judith. The now empty finger tickles Judith's belly as she stands and walks from the room. Beth really is excellent with kids. A skill I'm jealous of.

I start to ration the beans into each bowl, and hand each kid a bowl and a spoon. They scamper back to the rug and greedily spoon the beans into their mouths. Too soon, the food is gone, and they are handing me back the empty bowls and silverware. I eat my own bowl slowly; enjoying the food I am given. Because too often in this world, people go without it. I sit at a table with two or three chairs besides the one I take up. Across from me sits the bowl for Beth, and she still hasn't returned. Maybe Judith wasn't as tired as usual. At the hour we're eating, it might've been considered brunch if the world wasn't a giant pit of suck and walkers. This is the latest I've eaten breakfast in a long time, I must've slept later than I thought I did.

Beth returns just as I'm finishing up and she slides into the chair across from me, "Sorry that took so long, Judith was just not having it this morning," she gives a friendly smile and shakes her head. I nod in understanding. I set down my spoon, and I look around awkwardly for a moment, _do I stay? Do I leave?_

I clear my throat, "So, did I miss anything earlier?"

Beth swallows her spoonful, "Yeah, there was another Council meeting early this morning. My dad went,"

My eyes widen with interest, "What was the outcome of that?"

"Daryl and a few others are going out on a run. A big one. Dad said we needed antibiotics. It's getting worse by the minute," Beth's voice goes quiet and she stirs her bowlful to fill the silence some.

"Lizzie's gone now, she's got it." I tell Beth. She looks up at me and nods, "Do you think we're gonna die like this? All just get sick with some stupid flu and go out the dumbest way?" The words have been fighting to emerge from my subconscious for some time, but until I'd spoke them, I hadn't really thought about deeply. Now I was scared.

"We're strong. We'll make it past this. We always do," Beth reassures me, one arm stretches across the table to pat my forearm. "My dad told me something once, and I think he's right. If we don't have hope, what's the point of living? Ya know?"

I consider this for a moment, I like that. I like that a lot. "Yeah, I get it. So if we have hope, then we can make it."

She grits her teeth, just barely though, "Yeah," the word comes out quick and inconsequential. She's lying through her teeth, but it's nice for her to try.

_Good talk, Beth,_ "I'm gonna get these bowls back to the entrance now." I say, I grab my own, and then Beth finishes off her bowl quickly and hands me it. I push the cart back to the entrance, and my gut pulls when I make it to the office with my books. The door is closed now, I did that while getting Lizzie out, maybe no one will pay it any mind, won't explore it for its riches. Or, they're riches to me. I push the cart just outside of the admin building and leave it.

I walk around the admin building for a while, but Carl isn't anywhere to be found. He either snuck out to the prison, or he's the world's greatest hide and seek player. Either way, I'm stuck waiting. The realization sends chills through me, the last person I waited on was my dad._ Stop. Don't do this. He's fine. Don't be so clingy. He probably just wants some space_.

I force the thought of him away, but the chill stays and I decide sneak out of the admin building, just to the showers where I left my jacket. It's quick and painless, I'm relieved to not only find my jacket, but that no one is there. I run back to the admin building, and breathe a sigh of relief when the door shuts behind me and I go unseen. I slip the jacket over my shoulders, cinching the tie at the waist. The chills are still claiming my body.

I decide wandering more won't do me any good, so instead I do a quick check to make sure no one else is around and then I dart into my office. Or really Carl's and mine, because he was there too. This place _is_ ours. I quietly shut the door behind me and I go to the desk. My hands find the top left drawer and without any thought, my hands find Little House on the Prairie. The compulsion to read it overwhelms me and my fingers slip over the inscription. I laugh at yesterday's memories, and I start to worry again. But that's what waiting does, make you worry. Until all of your body composition becomes 10% water and 90% dread. And that right there is a lethal dosage. I'd estimate I'm only at 10% dread.

But then I really start to stop and think, what am I so worried about? This is a boy that I've only really begun to interact with for what, two days? _Two._ I can count the days on one hand. And the fact is, he's probably just off being defiant, and that I'm stressing over nothing. At the same time there's a part of me that imagines him not even in the prison, surrounded by walkers. And then...

A lump forms in my throat so hard I can't breathe. And I'm thinking about my dad again._ Read Sam, just read_. But disease has struck Laura's family too, "fever 'n' ague" she called it. They have the chills too. Just like me. I have to slam the book down. I can't read anymore. I cannot stand this waiting.


	12. Bruises

You have your physical bruises and you have your metaphysical bruises, the kind that hurt you on the inside. But the same concept applies for both. You don't really notice it until you push on it, or you hit against something and then pain hits you hard, so hard you stop breathing for a moment and you blink hard to clear your mind. You wince and it's altogether an unpleasant experience. I think my heart might be bruised, from the losses that plague me more often than not. But bruises heal, just slowly, and you're never quite the same afterward.

My misery drives me to sleep. Because time passes that way. I just want the time to pass. When I wake up, enough time has passed for the sun to have moved across the sky to shine on my face through the window. I swallow, moistening my dry throat. My tailbone aches from sleeping in the sitting up position. _Little House on the Prairie_ sits closed a few feet away, from where I threw it down earlier. My knees are nearly pulled up to my chest and everything below my knees has fallen asleep. I stretch my arms and I get to my feet. Yes, I was asleep for a good while.

After a quick examination through the peephole on the office door, which was admittedly helpful, but strange for a prison admin building, I determine the coast is clear. _Little House on the Prairie_ has been stored where it belongs, and I dash out of the office, making sure the door is properly closed. I stroll causally down the hallway for a while. I stop dead when I see a figure. A mixture of emotions hit me and my body wants to do a thousand things at once.

_Carl._ The unmistakable lanky figure and sheriff hat is a dead giveaway. I want to scream and lecture him about how he shouldn't run off and scare me half to death. But then I remember he's not my property, and I'm not his mother. I also want to give him a hug because I'm thrilled he's alive and at least appears safe. I grit my teeth and tell myself to be a good girl.

"Hey, Grimes," I call his way.

He turns around and nods at me, her starts walking in my direction. _Control, Sam. Control._

"Hey, I've been looking for you." His expression doesn't give much away. He's pretty guarded at the moment, and even the brilliant blue of his eyes gives nothing away.

"That's a lie," I scoff, "You hadn't checked the office." I don't even have to identify which office, he knows.

"Ok, you caught me," he rolls his eyes, a slight smirk at just the corners of his mouth, putting his hands in the surrendering position. Then I realize he's holding his gun.

"When did you get your gun back?" I haven't been entrusted with something as significant as a gun for a long while.

Carl lowers his hand, his head ducks with it, his hand starts to fiddle with the safety, "Yesterday. I think my dad decided that since the outbreak it's not safe anymore. I'm only supposed to use it for emergencies though. He still doesn't trust me." His tone is serious and upset. Then he clears his throat with a little cough.

I have to change the subject, "So what are you really doing?"

He lifts his head again, and he slides the gun back into its holster, "Doing what my dad told me to. Watchin' over everyone." His Georgia accent doesn't slip out often. But when it does... _Stop it, Sam, don't get sidetracked._

"Then where were you earlier? You missed breakfast ya know." There we go, it came out. What I've really been dying to know. I just hope I don't sound too desperate and clingy.

Carl shrugs, "Those kids need it more than I do." That's a lie.

"But you," I urge, my voice drops out, and I swear I sound no older than Mika, "where were you."

He can't meet my gaze again, and I know that he's snuck out, "I was doing my job. Hershel wanted to go out, I wasn't gonna let him go alone," he shakes his head. It lifts and I can see each bead of sweat on his forehead. Like a nervous tick, he wipes them away.

"Where's he now?" I cock my head curiously at Carl

Carl bites his lip, "I think he went to A Block."

My eyes stretch wide, "Why?" _Please don't let Hershel be sick. _We need him. He's helped Rick, he's helped me, he's helped all of us. Losing Hershel would be like losing your head.

"He had some herb remedy to help keep the sick around until we got real antibiotics. That's the whole reason he went out in the first place." Carl explains. His expression is tight and worried.

"Lizzie has it," the words spill out of my mouth like a waterfall before I can control them.

Carl swallows hard, his face looks worn and exhausted, he does not look like a fourteen year old boy. But an aged veteran who's seen so much death and suffering, "Glenn too. Half of the prison is in that cell block now."

I bite my lip, thinking about my words to Beth. How long I wonder, how long until I get it, until Beth gets it, until Judith gets it, until Carl gets it. There goes that bruise again, and I physically wince. He steps forward and his hand is burning warm against my forearm, though his touch is gentle.

"I'm fine," I shake my head. I pull away, "Isn't it nearly time to eat again?" the subject change feels forced, but I don't want to think about this anymore.

"Yeah," Carl nods and he walks ahead of me. He does the cough-like thing to clear his throat again and he heads to the room where everyone tends to congregate.

Tonight, dinner isn't much. Then again, that's to be expected, there are many to feed and the ill need as much sustenance as their bodies will let them take on. It's funny how when you most need nourishment, your body rejects it, like a rebellious teenager who wants to prove they don't need help to fight whatever battle they take on. We eat a mix of canned corn, green beans, and fresh peas. The peas taste the best, they aren't tainted with the preservatives that have helped us carry on for so long.

If I could, I'd like to thank the guy that invented preservatives, I'm sure he didn't know that their best use would be the zombie apocalypse, a future I'm positive he couldn't even fathom. But truthfully, he's a life saver. For when you run from monsters there's no time to grow crops and harvest them. The fact that we lay claim to that blessing now is a miracle. I eat slowly like I always do. It's easiest to enjoy and observe that way.

There's Beth, who shares her food with Judith. Judith's head shakes as she refuses to eat _another_ spoonful. But Beth is more determined than that. Eventually, she coaxes enough into Judith that Beth is satisfied and eats the rest for herself. Beth eats carefully and slowly, she clearly grew up being self-conscious about how people saw her when she ate, tiny spoonful's and slow chewing, and never speaking while she eats.

Then there's Carl, who eats with relative speed, probably because he hasn't eaten today and he's a growing boy. There's a certain something to the way he eats though, almost a desperation, like this could be anything, just to keep going. When he finishes, he takes Judith from Beth and he stops being the agile, defiant survivor and his eyes are soft and every action is delicate and caring to his baby sister. He cradles her in his arms and she plays with one of his fingers because that's as much as she can grab. Judith always smiles at Carl, and he always smiles back. My throat catches at the warmth that glows between the two of them. It's just so cute.

There are the children, they sit on the ground. Not enough room for all of us to use the table. They are shoveling mouthfuls in as fast as they can. They can't get enough, and their unnaturally lean bodies show it. There are some as young as five or six and barely have a speck of baby fat on them. Whereas Carl and I are just past losing ours, the way it's supposed to be. It hurts me to think these kids will never grow up and have school to go to and learn and they'll never understand what little things like recess were. Or how life before wasn't just surviving until the next day. But that's reality now. And it hurts. Another bruise that lays claim to my soul.


	13. Maybe

Maybe is such an inconsequential word. It can turn any otherwise serious phrase into something without meaning._ Maybe I'm going to eat today. Maybe we'll live to see sunrise tomorrow. Maybe I love you. Maybe I will kill you._ See how that works? This world is full of maybes and you never know when a maybe will come true.

After dinner, I leave Carl with Judith and take the cart with the dirty dishes to the front. It's a nice, quiet walk on my own. The sun glows warm, orange through what few windows we have. The cart creaks slightly with age and my shoes are nearly silent against the tile floors. When I reach the entrance, I push the door open and I set the cart just outside. I hear steps to my left and I see Rick come into my peripheral vision.

"Where's Carl?" Rick says as soon as he realizes it's me.

I look over at him and let go of the cart, "Inside, with Judith." I nod my head backward toward the admin building.

"Did he leave earlier?" Rick's brow furrows like Carl's does sometimes.

I bite my tongue, _what would Carl want me to say? Your secret is safe with me,_ I silently tell Carl.

I shrug, "I slept most of the day, so maybe?" Not a lie, but not the truth at the same time.

Rick sighs and purses his lips, cracking his head to the side. "Can I go in?"

I look awkwardly from side to side, _do I really have the authority to stop Rick?_ "I... I.. I guess. I don't see why not," I shrug, I step aside and Rick walks past me. _Has he talked to Hershel? Did something happen out there that Carl didn't tell me about?_

I blink that thought away, it's probably nothing. I decide to head to the office with my books. I need something different to read.

I flip through my biographies. Joan of Arc, there's something I haven't read in a while. I stuff it into my waistband and zip up my jacket to cover it. I slip quietly out of the room and hear voices.

"-with Hershel?"

"I was doing my job." There's a defensive tone the voice uses that I immediately recognize as Carl's. The other voice was deep with a thick southern accent. Rick.

"You need to stay here. Do as you're told." Rick sounds strained and distracted. _What is it? What could be distracting him?_

"I am. You said to protect them here. That's what I'm doing. What if Hershel had been attacked, huh?" Carl's tone rises.

Rick counters with a lower volume, "Did you shoot?"

"No,"

"Did you want to?"

"Maybe." regret, shame, and pain dowse Carl's voice and he does the cough thing to clear his throat again.

I hear footsteps behind me and I pretend to act surprised when I hear, "Sam?"

"How long have you been here?" I swallow, looking over Carol. She looks distracted too, her jaw is tight and she has a pile of clothes in her arms.

"Long enough," she hands me my clothes, I notice my beanie and gloves are folded on top, "You shouldn't eavesdrop you know." she points out with lifted eyebrows.

I bite my tongue because I almost tell her that it isn't polite to sneak up on people either. Instead I just duck my head and nod, I turn around and start to walk away.

"Rick and I are going on a run. With Hershel in A, that puts Beth in charge, but you at second. Be mindful now, but also take care of what needs to be done. She has Judith to look after." Carol tells me. I nod again, but not because I feel like. More nasty words that should never be spoken.

"Alright, be safe," I turn my head back to her for a moment. I grit my teeth, and keep on walking. As I head to the room Carl and I are staying in, Rick passes me and pats me on the shoulder. I nod again, it's not safe for so many of our defenders to be out. _What if the Governor comes?_ All that's left by the sound of it are the ill and us. Maybe Maggie, if she didn't take off with Daryl.

I get the room and the door is cracked, I bump it open with my foot and Carl is in the back corner of the room. He's wearing the hat, it's tipped over his eyes so I can't see his face. He's fiddling with his gun.

I clear my throat so he's more aware I'm here, "You ok?"

He nods and sniffs.

"What is it?" I push, I set my clothes down in my corner on the opposite side of the room. My blanket is still in a pile, I hadn't thought to fold it. I unzip my jacket and throw the book on the pile. I walk over and sit cross-legged a couple feet away.

"Nothing," he grumbles. It's almost like he's trying to hide something from me. My brow narrows and I bite my lip, maybe we weren't as close as I'd imagined us to be. My heart drops a little and my expression twists.

"Alright, be that way. Grumpy," I roll my eyes and try to play it off. I push myself to my feet and I curl into my own corner, the blanket on my legs. I begin to read my book. The light is fading though, and it doesn't take long before even squinting with my nose inches from the book is enough. I set it down, and slide into a lying down position. I curl up into the fetal position and pull the blanket over my shoulder. My head rests against the pillow and I'm turned away from Carl. _Maybe I'll find my own room tomorrow. Maybe_.

I sleep well enough that night, no nightmares, with my early to bed, I wake up before dawn. Carl's still asleep. He's facing towards me, the hat rests next to his chest and he's sprawled out, lying on his stomach, one arm twisted behind him with his unbuttoned flannel shirt nearly off, revealing his dirty gray t-shirt. His face is turned to the side towards me, his face is soft and younger in the near black lighting. He looks his proper age, and you can just see his top teeth through his thin, slightly parted lips.

A small smile starts to form on my face, but I push it away. I have work to do. Especially since Carol is gone now. I'm the only left to cook. I'm not too worried about Carl waking up, but even so I face the wall as I change. Today I put on dark blue skinny jeans that are ripped out at the knees and a soft, gray tank top that is loose against my slender body. There's sea foam green and black Aztec stitching down the center. Down the center of the back is held together by many black threads. I slip on my jacket and lace up my Docs. I run my fingers through my hair and slide the beanie on my head.

I hide my book beneath the other clothes and take the time to neatly fold my blanket and set it on top of my pillow. Now everything is neat. I slip out the door and leave it cracked behind me, with only Carl's even breathing to fill the silence. He lets out a cough and I almost go back inside to check on him. But he's fine. He has to be.

I go to where Beth is staying and she's still asleep too. Of course, we should all be asleep. But we've all got jobs to do, and mine includes rising before the rest.

I should tell her, I should. But she needs her rest. Judith's a handful. So I scavenge the desk in the room and find some paper and a pencil.

_Went to go make breakfast. Be back soon._

_Sam_

I set it where she'll see it and then I'm gone. I walk quickly down the hallway and before I know it, I'm back into the prison. One way, I hear the loud roar of coughing, the ill and dying._ How long can they hold on?_ Another way, the way to the outside, I can hear the walkers, there's so many. _Do we have enough on the fence?_ We have to. These fences cannot fall. We need them to survive. The last way is silent, that is the road I take. The road of silence, I find it best and in a strange way, the most comforting. I get to choose the way I fill it, not have it filled for me.

I follow the dark and dank pathways until I emerge in the mess hall. I push through the swinging doors and enter the kitchen. It's so empty. I hope Rick and Carol find some food while their gone. I search the storage area and find a bag of oats. Oatmeal it is.

I grab the bag of oats and I nearly drop it. I let out a groan. It's heavier than it looks. I resettle the bag in my arms and with uncertain steps make it back to the kitchen area. I drop the oats on the island and I search the cabinets for a large pot. I grab the biggest I can find and fill it with water. I turn on a gas burner and set the pot to boil. While I wait for the pot to boil I go into the storage area for anything to flavor the oatmeal. I find some preserved blueberries and decide it'll do.

I pour about a quarter of the bag of oats into the pot, that's how big it is. I stir the oats until they've softened. After that I drain the excess water and mix in the blueberries. It's not much, but it'll do. I find a smaller pot and I scoop half the oatmeal into it, and set the gas on low. That should keep the oatmeal warm. Carol and Rick should be back any time now. Maybe Carol will thank me for being so helpful. _No, Sam, you mustn't be so selfish. You're doing your job. It's what's expected._

I load up enough bowls and spoons to feed the admin building. I add the remaining oatmeal to the cart. By now dawn has come and passed. Everyone should be awake about now.

Maggie walks in just as I'm heading out, "You aren't supposed to be here you know."

I shrug, "Tell me something I don't know."

"Where'd you get that anyway," she nods at the food.

"Made it. Someone has to while Carol's gone." I shrug again innocently.

Maggie's jaw slacks and her face goes to an expressionless state, something is wrong, "Sam."

"Rick's back isn't he?" My lips draw a thin line.

"Yeah, and-" she doesn't have to finish. I know. Carol's dead. I push past Maggie. I roll the cart and my grip tightens, fury rolling through me. I just nod and can't say anything else, the pain is coming too quick.

I want to scream at God, if he's even still up there._ How many more people are you gonna steal from me? First Mom and Noah. Then you gave me time to heal. Then Dad. Then Patrick. Now Carol. No time to heal._ One bruise after another.

I'm in the admin building now, I swing the door open with more force than one normally applies to doors. I'm practically stomping down the hallway. I hang a left. Then a right. A few more doors. _Keep it together Sam_. The children are just waking up, Carl's there, hat and all. Beth and Judith too. I let out a sigh. Something makes me start to calm down.

"Carl!" Rick's voice echoes throughout the hallway.

"Carl!" He calls again. Carl gets to his feet and sprints out of the room.

"Carl!" one more time.

"You ok?" I can hear Carl from here still.

"I was gonna ask you that," Rick's tone is careful and worried.

"We're fine," Carl tells him, I can almost hear his nod. I hear footsteps walk away and the words become less clear, but I can still pick up what they say.

"No one's sick? You didn't have to do anything?" Carl was right, Rick is reluctant to trust him.

Carl's feet shuffle against the ground, "Haven't had to use my gun, Dad."

I think there's a bit of silent conversation that is exchanged because there aren't words for a moment.

Then Rick speaks up again, his tone concerned and worried, reluctant to speak the words in case he might regret them, "And Judith?" I cast a look at the baby. She's smiling and happy in Beth's arms. Beth is bouncing her on her skinny knee.

"She's with Beth," Carl tells Rick. Rick lets out a relieved sigh, his children are safe. Carl clears his throat and I hear more shuffling.

"I found some food on the run," Rick explains

Something slides across the tile floor, it mixes against the papers and I hear someone else pick up the object in question. "There's a buncha fruit leather in there. Let's have everybody brush their teeth after."

I hear steps begin to walk away, but more words stop them, "Can we come out soon?" That's Carl.

Rick releases another sigh, "Not just yet."

"Dad, I was around you when you were in the middle of all of it. And I was around Patrick." I understand how he feels, except Carl wasn't around Patrick in his last moments, drenched in sweat and coughing up blood.

"I can help you," he urges. I want him to bring up me. I'm no use use here. _Get me out of this hellhole!_

"Thanks, but I need you to stay here," Rick reminds him

"I will," Carl steps further away, and I have to step backwards into the hallway, "But Dad, you can't keep me from it."

I can picture the change on Rick's expression, the sudden interest on his son's next words, "From what?"

"From what always happens," Carl swallows, and I can imagine his expression now. Eyebrows knitted together, head low, eyes looking up in almost a challenge.

There's a moment of silence, "Yeah, maybe." more footsteps, and I just barely catch, "I think it's my job to try."

I hear the door shut and I don't hear footsteps for a minute or two, but eventually, Carl starts walking back towards us. I step into the room and begin serving the oatmeal. The kids reach upward towards me with empty bowls that they took among themselves to grab. I take each one from them and fill each up. Carl arrives a few moments later. I fill him a bowl, and we trade, the bag for his bowl. His fingers are warm against mine in that little trade. I look up at him, but he doesn't meet my eyes. I duck my head too. _I thought we were friends_. He's the only one I've got left. I give Beth her bowl, with extra to compensate for Judith. She nods thankfully and soon the only sounds that fill the room are the clanking of spoons against the bowls.

Carl doesn't sit at the table today, he sits off in the corner, hat drawn over his face again. Beth offers to take the cart back, once everyone is finished, since I 'kindly went ahead and made breakfast' which I translate to, 'Yeah, I'm gonna do this so you can't sneak out again.' Carl disappears shortly after Beth goes and I'm left with Judith and the children.

Judith look up at me, and gives a gurgly laugh. Then her face begins to twist up and she starts crying. I bite my tongue. Babies aren't exactly my thing. So I bounce her up and down a little, but the crying only gets louder. I grit my teeth, the kids all turn to me and my cheeks turn tomato red. Burp her! It hits me. Oh, right. So I grab the barf towel Beth left on the table, sling it onto my shoulder and pat Judith on the back while she rests against my shoulder. She burps successfully- to say I'm not given a nice coat of baby puke. And the crying stops, I sigh with relief. By that time Beth's back and she takes Judith from me.

"Did she give you any trouble?" Beth balances Judith against her hip.

I shake my head and stand. I leave the room without another word. What am I supposed to do now? I sigh and just head to the room with my stuff. Might as well read. I expect to find Carl in the hallway, patrolling, making sure everything is A-Okay. But instead I hear sniffling from the room we're sharing. The door is shut this time. I cock my head. _What is going on?_ I open the door.

"Carl?"

He clears his throat with the little coughing thing. Then I realize, he's doing that far too often. He is hiding something.

"You have it, don't you?" I look him dead on.

For once, he looks at me, those brilliant blue are dim, "Maybe."


	14. Never

I've never done a lot of things. I've never been to prison- for real. I've never drank alcohol or taken drugs. I've never worn make up. I've never stole anything. I've never kissed a boy. I've never killed an actual human being. And until now, I've never seen Carl Grimes with dim eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I step closer, he extends his hand outward, trying to keep me back.

"It means I'm not going to A. That place is a death trap. You go there to die." he swallows and sniffs again, "But it also means you have to stay away from me."

"Never." I shake my head, "I can't force you to go to A Block. I get that. But if you're not gonna go, then someone has to take care of you, Carl."

"I'm fine," he coughs, "I haven't even got it that bad."

I stare at him for a long time, he is not fine, I know it. How can he tell me this when he's curled into the corner, the sweat ring around his collar too pronounced, coughing and sniffling. He tries to obscure his face with that damn hat again.

I'm done, I'm done be careful and timid and tryin' to mind every damn person. I'm done trying not to come off as scary and bossy and demanding, because that's what I feel like, and Goddammit I have to be that way now.

I walk over to him, he turns away, and I kneel beside him, removing his hat, "Come on now, lie down."

"Don't do this to yourself," he coughs, "I can take care of myself. I'll be fine." His hair is damp with sweat and sticks to his neck. His breathing is shaky. No, he's not fine at all.

I shake my head, and push on his shoulder, indicating for him to lie down. He looks at me and I look back at him.

"How come you get to be the boss of me?" He chuckles

"Because I'm older," I lift my head, with slight arrogance.

"By two months," Carl defends himself. He's smiling, and it doesn't look painful, "To the day."

I smile back, "Well I have the advantage." Then I get serious again, "So lie down, Goddammit."

He rolls his eyes and I think I've finally beaten his stubbornness. That's when I know how sick he really is. Carl wouldn't normally follow orders so easily. He lies down, I find the blanket he threw to side a while ago. I ball it up and place it under his head, adding to his pillow. His eyes start to close, the poor kid is exhausted.

"Daryl and them will be back anytime now. I'll just steal some of the antibiotics when they get back. You'll be back on your feet in no time." I push the hair that's fallen over his eyes away.

"You're an idiot," he shakes his head, but his voice is mumbling, he's on his way out. I stroke his hair a little while longer. And then his breathing evens and I get to my feet. I have to keep his temperature down. I take one last glance at him, I won't be gone long. The people who worked here must've had something. Cough drops, ibuprofen, something. Anything.

I have luck, the room we're in has a half a bottle of aspirin and three honey lemon cough drops pushed at the very back of a paper crammed drawer. I set them on top of the desk.

The next three rooms only have a couple of tissues and napkins. But it's better than nothing. I stuff them in my pocket. The next room has a couple bottles of water and a small pack of saltine crackers. I find a nearly empty box of Benadryl. I begin to wonder why they didn't think to check the admin desks earlier. But I'm thankful they didn't. The last two rooms I try have more napkins, part of a bottle of Delsym, and 3 bottles of water.

It'll have to do, and whatever the case it's better than what I started with. No one notices me and I make it back to the room with Carl quite easily. I kick the door shut behind me, and Carl stirs. I set down the recovered supplies. He sits up and just watches me. He props himself up on his elbows and he looks a little better, somehow.

"Thought you said you weren't gonna leave me?" He lifts a tired, dark eyebrow.

"Not for long," I roll my eyes, I'm glad he can keep a light tone in times like this. I toss a water bottle to him, which was a poor decision upon retrospect. He fumbles with it and after a few moments his fingers grasp the bottle tightly. His fingertips turn white as he unscrews the bottle, like he's afraid he's going to drop it. I grab the aspirin bottle and walk over to him, he's already drank half the bottle.

"Whoa there, you might wanna slow down. Don't wanna choke yourself now." I regret the words the moment they pass my lips. Carl stops and swallows, looking at me. "I...I..."I trail off and look away. I unscrew the aspirin bottle and pour two out. I hand them to Carl.

"Two aspirin every eight hours," I tell him. He presses his palm to his mouth with the pills and takes another drink of water. I let out a small sigh once he's swallowed, yes, this should help. He coughs into his elbow, no point in trying to cover it up anymore.

I grit my teeth and walk back over to the table and grab the Delsym, which is cough syrup. Luckily the measuring cup is the lid. I pour the recommended two tablespoons, and bring it to Carl. I sit cross-legged beside him. My shoes just barely touching his side.

"Drink up." I hand it to him and he death grips it. He drinks and swallows it, wretching almost immediately.

"This is disgusting," his lips purse, and I laugh at his twisted expression.

"Do you enjoy this Sam?" He's running his teeth over his tongue, and drinking more water.

I laugh and shrug. He smirks slightly, but his eyelids are already drooping again. And my smile turns into the corners of my mouth being slightly upturned. I place the back of my hand against his forehead, he still burns. Any trace of a smile vanishes and I stand again. I get another water bottle and those tissues and napkins. I sit down again and hand him the tissues, he grasps them in his right hand. I unscrew the water bottle and dampen the napkin. I place the wet napkin against his forehead and blot. He settles back into a lying down position and his fever ridden left hand finds mine. It's burning and sweating, but I don't let go. He holds it tightly and gives it one squeeze.

In that squeeze I translate a silent thank you. He knows deep down that he needed help. I'm not doing this for any particular lust or romantic act of devotion. I'm doing it to keep him alive. Because everyone deserves a chance.

Soon his eyes are closed and the grip slackens. I continue to blot his forehead. A few hours pass and his body cools some. The fever reluctantly breaks and more sweat runs down his still face. I hate to leave him, but I need to know what's going on. As I'm contemplating getting up or not, the sound of gunshots settles it.

I'm up and out the door, sprinting, without a second thought. I slam into Beth who's just left her room from undoubtedly putting Judith down for her afternoon nap.

Beth grips my elbows, steadying and stopping me at the same time. "That came from A," she explains, "You can't go."

I give her a severe look, "Your dad."

"Don't remind me," her kind standard dissolves and she gives me an angered look.

"Please," I beg, "Someone has to go. And you have to stay here."

"But you're not exposed!" She protests.

"Yes I am," I'm so furious and desperate I don't control what I'm saying. _Great, now I have to find a way not to tell her about Carl._ "I saw Patrick. In his last moments? Yeah, he was hacking everywhere. Don't try and tell me I'm not exposed. Please Beth, just trust me."

She looks at me for a while, "Don't say I told you so," she sighs and releases me.

"Carl!" Rick calls. _**Shit.**__ Carl can't come right now, leave a message, beep._

"Carl!" Rick hisses. He calls one more time and I round the corner, sliding, Rick's flashlight shining on my face.

"I heard gunshots," I'm panting slightly

"Where's Carl?" Rick's voice tightens up.

"With Judith," I lie through my teeth, Rick can't know. He can't know, "he told me to come instead."

"I need his help," his eyes scan me, and I can tell they don't believe me for a second.

"I'll have to do," I shrug. He starts out the door and I follow. We're running and running, down the gravel driveway to the fences.

We make it to the fence and my eyes widen when I see the massive amount of pile up on the fences. _Where's the fence cleaners? Shouldn't they be out here_. Unless. The power of the situation hits me and I realize there really aren't enough healthy people left.

"Come on, I need you to help me get these support beams in," Rick waves his arm and I pick up the pace. We get right to work and Rick holds up a log and I nail a stake into place. It holds. We move onto the next one until there's about ten up.

"Think they're ok?" I ask Rick, referring to the people in A.

"If thangs were goin' bad, we'd a heard more shots. Maggie would've come and gotten us," Rick reassures me, "We have to do this." there's no denying it, without these supports, this fence is going to crumble. But still, I look at Rick and I don't see a farmer, I don't see a man that willingly stands by as he knows people are being attacked. He's doing this because he has to. And if he had a choice, if he wasn't trying to set a good example for his son, he'd be in there right now. Doing what he was made for. I don't tell him this, I can't. This has to be done.

Rick goes for the next support beam and I hold onto the stake that's gonna keep the beam up.

"Want some help?" I offer

Rick shakes his head, "I got it." I help him anyway and we get the beam into position.

"Alright, set it down," I bend down to reach for my hammer when I hear a very bad sound. Cracking wood. I look up and one of the beams is bending. In a heartbeat it snaps and Rick and I run to it. He tries to keep the fence up with his body, but right away it's no use. Another beam goes down and the walkers push through. My heart pounds at a million miles an hour.

I turn and run and hope Rick's behind me. I hear the roar of moaning walkers and I can hear them thumping along behind me. I push my legs harder and I sprint faster. My lungs burn. I can't stop. I won't stop. Never.

I hear stumbling and I whirl my head around, "Come on Rick!" I scream and he pounds after me, recovering. I don't know what I'd do if Rick died on my watch. I doubt anyone would ever forgive me. We make it to one of the fence-side watch towers and I throw the door open, Rick runs inside and slams the door shut a moment later. We're safe, for now.

Rick's panting hard and so am I, but the groan of walkers on the other side of the door tell us we're not finished yet. I hear them, piling up, more and more. Like all the walkers in world heard the news and came to the all-you-can-eat Rick and Sam buffet.

"Go!" Rick shouts and I turn and get to the other side of the tower. I throw the door open and out we go. There's the fence though, and there's the walkers. Never far behind. The push against the fence and I know a second wave is on the way.

I force my tone clear and even, I turn to Rick, "What do we do?"

He looks around and he's reluctant I know, I know what we can do, but he offers something else instead, "Maybe I can back the bus up against the fence."

"It won't hold," I shake my head.

Rick sighs knowingly and he pushes me along, "Come on." Rick knows what we have to do. The fence strains to hold them back and I know exactly where we're headed. We just have to get there.

The armory. Really it's just laundry carts pressed up against the fences filled with weapons. But right about now it'll do just fine.

Rick hands me ammo first, I stuff my pockets with as much as they'll hold. Next he hands me a semi-automatic gun. "Got it?" he asks. I nod. It's heavy, but not overwhelmingly so. I think most of it is me holding a weapon as dangerous as this again.

The walkers are shaking the fence, they can smell us. So much fresh meat, so close and yet, so far. I gulp hard. _Ok, Rick. Crash-course me on automatic guns, you have approximately one minute before those walkers break through that fence. Go._

The adrenaline is pumping so much now that Rick's voice is just another echo among the chaos, I force myself to focus and listen to what he's saying, "Listen to me. Magazine goes in here." He points to the bottom, he slides his in, "Release his here." he points somewhere else, "Make sure it latches." he smacks the magazine in one more time, we're running again towards the walkers, "Pull back the operating rod, the rounds speed up. Squeeze the trigger for rapid fire, ok?" he looks to me for confirmation, I just swallow my fear and doubt and just nod.

"You shoot, or you run," he tells me. I gulp even harder. I can't run. There's no way I'm running, "Don't get close." his eyes are the same color as Carl's and they are set determinedly on me. Just as I turn to the fence, it tumbles down. And walkers begin to pour through. They stumble and stagger towards us and my finger hits the trigger and I aim. I forgot how good I was with a gun. My first few shots are messy and only hit in the chest, but I adjust to the kick back and soon it's head shots near every time.

It's a blur really, all I know is the sun keeps moving and we keep shooting, my shoulder begins to ache, but I don't stop. Not until they're all on the ground. I don't think about anything else except for where I aim and my proximity to the nearest walker. They never manage to get within five feet. Rick shoots with twice the expertise I do and we make good progress. Then one gets too close and Rick's out of ammo. He slams it in the head with the butt of the gun and I finish it off. I toss Rick an extra magazine and he loads it up, I continue to shoot, but I can feel his eyes burrowing into the back of my skull. I realize that he's thinking about how similarly Carl would act in this situation, and then I realize that Carl is the one that's supposed to be here right now, not me.

_More walkers_, I tell myself, _don't get distracted_. I take down four or five more. Then I'm empty. I pull out the empty magazine and slide in the new one, I smack it and make sure it's in place. And I start up again. Down they go. One by one.

Then they're all down, and the one's we hadn't completely done in we stab out their brains with what we find. It's tedious, but I'm exhausted, so it's ok. Between the silence and the gut wrenching noise of brains being squashed. I hear a new noise. I look up.

It's a car.

Daryl.

They're back.

"Go!" Rick urges me, someone has to open up the gates, "I'll finish up here."

I drop the gun and the crowbar that I'd been holding, it's nearly sunset now and I'm sprinting. All the energy that I thought had faded comes back to me. I'm at the gates and I'm yanking on the pulley and the gates open, Rick's not far behind and he gets the real gate. I close the orange doors with the pulley system and I run to the car that pulls up the gravel driveway. It stops and people pile out, Rick shuts the big gate and I help people with their bags.

I offer to run it up to the main prison and Michonne and Tyreese nod. Daryl and Bob say thanks, but they've got it. I wouldn't have helped Bob anyway. I run, and as I run I pocket some of the antibiotics and supplies for an I.V. but I hope that it won't have to come to that. _It's for Carl,_ I remind myself. _It's for Carl_. I only take enough to go unnoticed but get the job done at the same time. I find Hershel at the entrance to A Block and I hand him the two bags filled with medications. He thanks me and I finally stop running.

The adrenaline ebbs the longer I walk. Rick catches up with me again. He tells me that I've done good. But I'm not really listening. I know how he looked at me. He wasn't shocked. He was reminded. About what we can do. What we're capable of doing. Me and Carl. We never really changed.

We walk into the admin building and Rick calls for Carl, once, and I wince. Twice, still nothing, three times. And Carl walks from around the corner. He wears the hat and the sleeves on his flannel are rolled down. He looks a little better, the fact that he made it here that quick is comforting. But his shoulders sag, and his hat is drawn close over his face. He's just covering up so his dad won't see.

"Where've you been?" Rick examines his son, I stand behind Rick, only to observe. Carl looks at us for a moment, and I subtly make a rocking motion with my arms.

"With Judith," he says almost immediately, he does the cough thing to clear his throat.

"Why didn't you come when I called?" Rick narrows his eyes, "Or when you heard the gunshots?"

"I figured Sam had it under control," he shrugs. I swear our brains are on the same wavelength sometimes.

Rick nods a little, gritting his teeth, "Well, next time, I expect you to come when I call you, alright?"

"Alright," Carl nods, Rick nods at his son and then leaves. When the door shuts behind Rick, I go to Carl and he leans against me. His breathing is labored.

"I got the meds," I tell him and he nods, I look around the corner and it's clear. We walk by the room with my books and Carl stops.

"What is it?" my eyes go to his filled with concern.

"I want you to get a book and read it to me," he says.

My eyes light up and I look at him curiously, "Oh really?"

He coughs and nods, "Will you please fulfill the sick child's wish?" he says with a mocking tone. It takes me back before the world went to shit, when you watched those commercials about terminally ill children and you called in and donated money.

I give a little laugh and we go into the office. I make sure Carl is comfortable in the stray office chair that is pushed into the corner and I go to the desk.

"And what would Mr. Grimes like for me to read for him?" I use the same tone as Carl and he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Surprise me," he chuckles, he shifts in the chair and it squeaks. I look in the desk drawers again, and I can feel his eyes on me. But it's not the same as with Rick. He's not shocked, or even horrified. It's different, and it makes my whole face go red. I flip through my classics, and one story in particular makes me stop. _Peter Pan, the Story of the Lost Boy. _

I look up at Carl, his eyes are still pretty dim, but they are soft on mine. My face burns with a blush and then he realizes he's been staring and he turns red too. I offer a shy smile, some things just don't change. I stick the book in the waistband of my jeans, zip up my jacket, shut the drawer to the desk, and walk back over to Carl.

I extend my hand to him and he takes it. I pull him up and I wrap my arm around his waist and he puts his arm my shoulder for support. He's shaky on his feet you know. He lets go of me whenever we pass a room with people in it, but once the coast is clear, he leans heavily on me again. We get him back to the room and carefully we get him on the ground. He lies down with his resting on the pillow and blanket. I kneel beside him, he looks up at me, and I remove his hat. I stand back up and grab the supplies that sit on the table. I reset up shop next to Carl so every time he needs something new I won't have to get up again and again.

I deposit the stolen medications from my pockets. _There goes one never._ I read the labels and give them to Carl accordingly, on top of the Delsym and aspirin. He gags again after downing the cough syrup. And I give him another bottle of water. He tries to be more conservative with this one. Once he's all drugged up, I realize that my stomach is grumbling. We never got the chance to eat. I tell Carl that'll I'll be right back, and I go to where we normally serve the food.

"Hey, is there any leftovers?" I ask Beth

"Yeah, there's some for you and Carl," she nods in front of her. It's two plates of mostly fruit, but also a little beef jerky.

"Thanks Beth," I give her a gratuitous smile and take the plates. This is will go nicely with the saltines I found. I'm about to turn and leave, but she catches my arm.

"I know Sam," her eyes are still on mine and I swallow hard.

"You can't-" I begin, she cuts me off.

"I won't, but just know, what you're doing is stupid," she turns back to Judith and I walk away. My gut tumbling around with mixed emotions.

I nudge the door open with my hip and kick it closed behind me, _there's Carl_, _he's still here_. I tell myself. It's all gonna be ok. I give him his plate and he nods at. He eats slower than I've ever seen him eat before, but that's probably only to keep his gut in check.

"How you feelin'?" I ask once I've eaten all my fruit

"Better," he nods a little.

My heart pulls sadly, and the question that's rung in my mind finally comes out, "You don't plan on leaving me, do ya?" I ask honestly. He looks at me for a moment, dim, blue eyes sad against my ugly blue gray ones, which too are sad.

"Never."


	15. Secrets

I've always been sort of a mediocre secret keeper. It helped when I tended to keep quiet and generally away from people. But things happen, they also do. People change. I've changed. And sometimes secrets become too much to bear on your own.

I got about half way through_ Peter Pan_ before Carl passed out. His fever had come back, but the antibiotics fought the way they should and now his skin no longer burns. He's still sweating furiously and I'm scared that I'll have to hook up the I.V., which could go one of two ways, bad or very bad. I could ask Beth, she probably knows. Since Hershel used to be a vet and all. But I don't want her reminded that Carl is sick and he ISN'T in A Block. Plus exposing her would be too dangerous, Judith and the kids.

_Judith._

She was around Carl when he was starting to come down with it. It wouldn't take much to do her in. _Stop it Sam. You have better things to worry about. If it was going to happen it probably would've already. All you can do now is try and keep Carl away until he's better._ And he will be. I know it.

I don't sleep a lot that night, I'm too scared something will happen. I blot his forehead with more damp napkins, trying to keep him cooled down. It's a rather effective method really. He's peaceful when he sleeps, so it's not like I mind. But every now and again I think about him waking up and seeing me staring at him and I start to blush.

At some point, the weight of my eyelids is too much to bear and I pass out. It's not a deep sleep, but it's something, the day has thoroughly exhausted me. I wake up when I hear stirring beside me and I jolt from my slouching position where my arms are wrapped around my bent legs and my head hangs between my knees.

Carl gives a small cough, but it's not as deep and painful sounding as the ones he's been giving, "I didn't mean to wake you," he mutters in a half asleep trance. He sits up on his own and stretches.

"No, it's fine," I shake my head, "I needed to get up anyway."

He finishes stretching and just looks at me and chuckles, "You are a terrible liar."

I roll my eyes, "How are you feeling this morning?" I press the back of my hand to his forehead, it's normal.

"A lot better," he nods and I believe it. Better safe than sorry. I reach around behind me and grab his morning meds. First the antibiotics, because those things are miracle workers. Then the aspirin, then the Delsym.

Carl lets out a groan when I hand him the cough syrup, "Do I have to?"

I give a very stressed expression, "Yes, Carl."

He halfheartedly glares at me through his dark, messy hair, and even his eyes are brighter this morning. This could be a good day. This could be a very good day. He reluctantly swallows the bitter cough medicine and his physical reaction is the same as it's ever been. And I laugh a little on the inside. He runs his teeth over his tongue and we just sit there for a bit.

"I think I'm gonna go see if I can help my dad today," Carl says after a long period of just silence.

He's better, but I'm not sure if he's that much better, "Carl, I'm not sure-"

"He knows something is up, I have to show him everything is fine,"

_But everything is not fine_, I want to tell him. Instead, I just shrug, "You're still pretty weak. What happens if you pass out, or start coughing up blood, or, or-"

"Sam," his eyes meet mine, and his hand rests against my upper arm, the weight is almost welcome and comforting, "I'm not worried. It'll be ok,"

I bite my lip and study him again. After a moment I release a sigh, "Only if I can come with you. Just... Just in case," the proposition makes me anxious. My hands sweat nervously and I rub them dry against my jeans.

He nods, "Alright, if that's what it takes." He smirks and I gnaw on the inside of my lips.

I turn around and grab the hat, "Come on now, we'd better get going." I stand up and help Carl to his feet, he's at first shaky on his feet, but the more we walk around the room, the stronger he gets. His breathing is not labored the longer he moves, and I'm beginning to think miracles can come true.

He doesn't have to lean against me as we walk to get breakfast.

Beth sees us, then I see Judith.

"Carl. Stay here. I'll get us some food. But, just stay back. Okay?" I hope he understands. He looks at his baby sister and fear registers in his expression. Yes, he understands just fine.

"Ok," he nods and I leave his side. Beth gives an approving nod, there's already food that's been set away for us and I quickly grab it and exit. I hand Carl his bowl and we eat just outside the room. This morning, it's more oatmeal with some of the fruit Rick brought back yesterday.

Carl's head is bowed as he eats, still slower than normal, but a little faster than yesterday. The hat falls over his eyes and his hair drifts forward. His eyes are focused on the food. He still eats that way, with almost a desperation, and I know there must have been a point where he went hungry some days.

I remember those days, before Woodbury, when this whole thing first started. One small can of beans for the four of us, to serve as nourishment for the next two days. I don't look back fondly on those times minus the fact I had my whole family.

We finish up and I leave the bowls just outside the door. Carl gets himself to his feet and we head out of the admin building. It's not long before Carl sees Rick and calls after him. He takes off jogging. I follow behind, I bite my tongue hard trying to keep calm. _He's fine_, I tell myself. _He has to be fine_.

"Hey!" He calls, "You didn't wake me up!" Probably for the best he didn't, but still. Gotta make it seem like he's alright, right?

"Thought I'd let you sleep in," Rick replies, turning to his son. I decide I'll hold back. Just watch from a distance and make sure things are ok.

"I could help," Carl tells him. His posture is better today. Like he knows he can actually hold himself up. Rick looks carefully over his son. Trying to look for whatever he saw yesterday. But dare I say, it's gone.

"I'm good," Rick nods, "I gotta go talk to Daryl."

"Right now?" Carl's voice drops with noticeable disappointment.

Rick looks at his son a moment longer, "No," he shakes his head, smacking Carl playfully on the shoulder with his work gloves, "Let's, let's go," he nods out to the field where they farm. Good father-son bonding I suppose. I'm really not needed here. I look around and I see Michonne loading some walkers into the back of the truck, probably to burn.

"Need any help?" I ask as I approach. Michonne studies me for a moment. Her dark skin glows from the reflection of the sun's rays mixed with her sweat. She's been out here a while. Her dreds are pulled back partly with a tribal print head band and she wears a vest over a cream sleeveless sweater. Her army green pants are tucked into her combat boots and she's got her katana strapped to her back.

"Yeah, if you aren't afraid to get your hands dirty," she decides

I shrug, "Anything to contribute," I push up the sleeves of my jacket and I readjust my beanie, I yank off my finger-less gloves and I push them into my back pockets. Then I help her pull the next corpse onto the pile.

"I'm sorry about your dad," she says after we've moved a couple more.

The memory gives me a sharp pang in my chest, but I have to shake it off, "It's done. Can't change what's happened." my shoulders are more slumped now, and I just can't seem to pull them up.

We pull up the last corpse when I hear the uneven steps of someone behind me, I turn around, Hershel. Michonne walks to him, but I stay back.

"You headin' out?" he asks

Michonne gives him a knowing look, "You wanna come?"

Without much hesitation, Hershel nods, "Hell yeah." a smirk passes my lips. Only then does he see me.

"Aren't you supposed to be in quarantine?" he inclines his head towards me.

I bite my tongue so I don't turn around with '_aren't you?_', "Yes sir." I nod, "But Carl's out here, so I figured I might as well contribute too."

Hershel nods after a moment, "Let's get going then, let's not be wasting daylight."

I look over my shoulder and I can just see the brown of the sheriff hat mixed in with the bright green of the plants. He's there talking with his father, holding back his secret.


	16. Blood

Blood is probably one of the most natural yet artificial things that exist. Appearance or otherwise. There's the blood that pulses through your veins and basically keeps you alive. And then there's your family blood, which is physical yet metaphorical. Then there's walker blood, it's black and vile and is so repulsive it seems fake. But we've all got blood, walker or man, and sooner or later, it will spill.

The ride just past the gates is short and bumpy. I'm crammed between Michonne, who drives, and Hershel, who takes shotgun. I have to pull in my shoulders and lean forward just to try and keep 2/3 of us comfortable.

Daryl and Bob open the gates for us and we go off road to the right, literally just outside the fence. We find a good spot, Michonne puts the car in park and I jolt forward. Then we pile out and begin to unload the corpses for burning.

There are two big tanks of gasoline; we pour both of them over the mound of walkers. Then Michonne finds a nice big stick, dowses that in gasoline, Hershel lights it on fire and throws it. I watch as the gray and the rotten turn orange in the licking flames, only making the smell worse. Now it burns, now it spreads. Like they do, even the fire that burns them. It spreads the smell everywhere, so you can never really escape them.

I just stare for a while, immersed in the sight. It's almost beautiful in a disgusting kind of way. The way the fire claims everything it touches, the one that will always win in the end. Even against walkers.

"Sam," Michonne calls me and I turn away, I realize that they'd walked away a long time ago, and they've been watching me. I duck my head and follow after them, ashamed of how the sight dulled my senses.

I'm just walking, studying the ground when there's an abrupt clunk. I look up and Michonne is lying on the ground, standing above her is a man that I once considered a protector, savior even. But now, as he stands over my friend's, my new family's body, the only term that registers now is murderer.

The Governor.

Hershel starts to pull out a gun, but there's already one pointed at Hershel, The Governor shakes his head a little. Hershel slowly puts the gun down on the edge of the trailer. He raises his hands in the surrender position. My eyes wide in disbelief and fear. The gun doesn't move. My heart pounds hard in my chest and my hand moves for the knife.

"Don't even think about it," the Governor growls and the gun moves to me, "Long time, no see."

My skin crawls at the sound of his voice. A thousand nightmares roar in my head coming to life all at once. We knew he was out there! We knew! And now he's right under our noses.

_I could scream._ It'd get me killed, but I know I'd be heard. _Save Hershel and Michonne. Save the prison from the Governor. I could do it. I could do it._

_Sam. You're talking crazy. Even if you were heard, the Governor could get away. Kill Hershel and Michonne right along with you. Don't do this. There's another way. We can all live through this._

"How's your dad doin'?" He's just wasting time, "He up there right now? Missin' his little girl?" my arms are trembling. Between his voice and the grief all I want to do is strangle him.

"When he finds out what you've done he'll kill you," I force my voice to come out clear. I'm not going to tell that monster. I can't.

"I'm sure he will," the Governor chuckles, "but until then," I hear footsteps behind me, a swing, and then the world goes black.

When I wake up I'm crammed in between Michonne and Hershel again, but this time, I have duct tape over my mouth an my hands are wrapped together in front of me. My heart accelerates as I see a hand whip into my peripheral vision and I wince at the sound of ripping.

Michonne. The duct tape has been removed from her mouth. The Governor. He rips the duct tape.

"Don't touch me," Michonne's lip curls at the monster in front of her. Can't say I blame her. If I could break free of my bonds, I'd have the Governor's throat in my hands, squeezing and squeezing until he no longer struggled in my grasp. This is the man that cut my family in half. Mercy is not associated with this kind of evil.

I pull at my restraints, but they hold firm. The duct tape is rough and pulls at my mouth.

"Stay still," he says evenly.

"Never." I tell him, but the duct tape muffles it to 'hmhm,' so I figure my point isn't brought across.

The Governor walks to a place a few feet away, behind me, so I can't see. I look around and decide we're in an RV. He comes back with wrapped packages, "You should eat, it's gonna be a long day. Nobody's gonna hurt you." There he is again, the Governor that everyone fell for, the kind, giving man that would lead everyone through hell. But that's not him, not really anyway.

Hershel speaks up, "I don't believe that." I'm the only one with my mouth covered now, _fantastic_.

The Governor goes and sits on the small couch that's about 4 feet away. Too far for me to reach out and kick. I mean, I could stand up if I wanted. It's clear our bondage is not as severe as it could be, as it probably should, like we could get up leave any time, but he'd shoot us. I see the gun on his belt. What a fool he is, thinking he could lull us into a false sense of security. He is messing with some medical supplies and I study him, wondering what tortures he is going on put us through, "Well I don't care."

"Just tell us what this is," Hershel requests evenly. He's a good man, Hershel. His age has brought wisdom, something this world needs, "Please." he adds, trying to get through to the Governor is trying to walk on water.

"Isn't personal," he continues to pick through cotton pads and alcohol.

"Then what is it?" Hershel sighed

He ignores the question, "Michonne, I just want you to know," she cocks her head slowly at the insane man, "Penny, my daughter, she was dead. I know that now." I've heard the stories. They say it's how he went crazy, losing his daughter. But I've never thought that, I've thought he was insane all along, Penny just made it worse.

"I don't wanna hurt ya," he explains, "I don't wanna hurt anyone. I need the prison. That's it. There are people I need to keep alive. Y'all are gonna help me take it. No one needs to die." his explanation almost sounds tired. Like he's tired, tired of what though?

"I'm gonna kill you," Michonne vows

"No you won't," the Governor looks up from his idle sorting.

Michonne doesn't stop though; her muscles are tense pressed next to mine. This seat wasn't made for two people, let alone three, "I'm gonna take a-"

Hershel interrupts her, "Stop it." he's doing what he does best, negotiating, "You want the prison?"

"Yeah," the Governor nods, his head is still turned away from. _What punk, you too scared to look? Can't own up to your actions?_ These are things I could never say out loud. Hell I wouldn't normally think, had I not been in the presence of such an evil thing, "I'll take it from you as peacefully as I can." he's trying to distract himself from the medical supplies now. My eyes narrow, this is not the Governor I know and hate. He's different. Could he have changed? Trying more... peaceful methods? Rather than trying to shoot them- us all out, kidnapping a few and using our lives as a bargaining chip. Measuring our worth. _Are the lives of the three of us combined worth the prison? Are we enough?_

"Governor-"

"Don't call me that," he starts to turn back at us for a moment. _Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't call him Governor? What the hell are we supposed to call him?_ I bet the Governor has some really stupid weak name, like Roger, or Nelson, or Phillip. Ha, that'd be the day.

Hershel shakes off his comment, "Your people, our people, we can find a way to live together. These people you need to keep alive, do ya love 'em?" Hershel asks. The Governor begins to turn towards us again, and then stops. His hands push on his knees and his mouth is pulled small.

"You're a good man Hershel. You're a better man than Rick," he sighs.

"Everything you said, the way you said it, you've changed," Hershel tells him. Good, I'm not the only one that sees it. Michonne on the other hand, she's still brittle and tense, ready to strike at any moment. She doesn't like this, not one bit.

The Governor gives a small shrug.

"So has Rick," Hershel explains, leaning forward a little. Michonne casts a glance at me, part of it is worried, another is concerned, to see if I believe this bullshit. I see the change, I don't trust it.

The Governor turns so I can see his face in profile, the most he's turned since he's sat down, "The two of us. We'll never be able to live together. Michonne and I, will never be able to live together." I see three fourths of his face now, and he turns back around. His reluctance makes the air stiff, every movement, every word, it just feels wrong. Then again, I do have a piece of duct tape stuck to my mouth. That seems like the Governor.

Hershel pushes further, "We can find a way-"

The Governor turns completely, "I found a way!" he shouts. Hershel and he exchange looks for a long time, "Tryin' hard. All kinds a way I could do this. This way you get to live, and I get to be-" he trails off and just stares at the ground. A madman, lost in his own thought. He looks down for a moment then stands, heading for the door. He opens the door and starts to leave, but Hershel stops him.

"You say you want to take this prison as peacefully as possible, that means you'd be willing to hurt people to get it. My daughters would be there. That's who you'd be hurtin'. If you understand what it's like to have a daughter, then how can you threaten to kill someone else's?" Hershel looks him in the eye, the one eye. The other is covered by that awful eye patch. I don't even know if that eye is there anymore. Not since Michonne. I press my shoulder more against Michonne's someone else that's there. That just wants this man dead. The pressure is almost comforting.

The Governor stares back for a long time, wordless, not speechless, wordless. He doesn't have to use words; it's not that he can't. And I think that's how it's going to be, just an endless stare, but he does speak. And when he does, there is a serious lack of facial movement, like the words just come into the air instead of passing his mouth; "Because they aren't mine." he stares a moment longer, but now at no one in particular. And then he opens the door again and leaves. Now it's just us and the stale air, in a trailer home that appears to belong in a different time.

We just kind of sit there for a while, and then I see Michonne look over at me; she moves her bonded hands towards my mouth, "Here, let me help you with that." I sit still like a good girl and make myself not flinch, "I'm sorry, but this is gonna hurt, I'll do it real quick though," he words are quick and soothing. And she's right, it's quick. It also hurts like hell. But there's no blood, no broken skin, no real harm done.

"Thanks," I mumble

"No problem," she sighs. And it's silent again. It's silent for a long time. There's nothing to say, nothing to do, just wait. After a while, Hershel hands me some of the wrapped food. I hold the bundle between my knees and peel off the aluminum foil as best I can. Once I've peeled back enough, I grab little pieces of the sandwich off with my fingertips and I get it to my mouth. Once I chew and swallow, I offer some to Michonne and she declines, and then Hershel and he just shakes his head. But my gut is twisted up and I don't think I can eat anymore. So the sandwich just sits there in my lap, started, but unfinished.

He comes back I don't know how much later, could be minutes, feels like days. And he comes back with people. Three of them, one for each of us. I'd barely forgotten that he doesn't do the dirty work. A woman with long, wavy, dark hair takes me; she grabs me by the shoulders and leads me to a dark red, almost maroon car. She readjusts my bonds so that my arms are behind me now. They push me into the backseat, then Hershel, and the Michonne; I'm not in the middle for once. A man that I don't recognize drives, and we drive. The green of the trees passes by in a blur and I don't wanna focus. Because I don't want this to be real.

We drive until there's no more road, and I can see the prison in front of me. There's the place I've come to call home, with my friends and my family. Where are they all now? From what I can see, they must be inside. Oblivious to us and the danger that lurks not so far away. Have they even noticed our disappearance?

They don't get the chance to remain oblivious for long. There's the sound of shot, which came from something big, maybe a tank? _No way_. I look past the both of them, they sit at my right. _They've got a tank. _

_It's all good_, I tell myself, _we have Daryl. _

The sound of the explosion shakes the car and makes my ears ring. Sure enough, I can see little blobs of people pouring out from the prison. I think Rick's there too, with Daryl, Tyreese, Sasha and Maggie, and I think even Beth. I'm not sure whether my brain is making things up, or it's really there. But I swear I can also make out the figure of a lanky boy in a sheriff hat.

"Rick, come down here!" calls the Governor, I look again, he's standing on the tank, "We need to talk."

There's silence for a moment and then Rick yells back in his rough, deep accent, "It's not up to me! There's a council now, they run this place!"

"Hershel on the council?" the Governor asks, and a soldier starts walking towards the car. It's the one that pushed me in here in the first place. My heart pounds hard in my chest, and I'm sure they can hear it up at the prison. The door opens and they pull out Hershel. There's movement up at the prison, _they didn't know._

"What about Michonne?" he asks, and another soldiers pulls her out. I'm all that's left, "She on the council too?"

"What about the little girl, her daddy on the council?" And here comes my soldier. He reaches through the car and grabs my arm. I don't fight it, I don't wanna be shot in front of the others. He pulls me out and the sunlight burns my eyes. He walks over to Hershel's right and pushes me onto my knees. My chest rises and falls quickly, but I fight not to let my panic show.

"I don't make the decisions anymore!" pain chokes up on Rick's voice. Two of the most valuable people this prison has to offer, at gun point. And then there's me, I'm what they call expendable.

"You're makin' the decisions today Rick. Come down here and let's have that talk."

Rick's figure stands still for a moment, then it walks to Carl and he tells him something. Carl nods and stands there, as he watches his dad walk towards us. My eyes shift to Rick. I'm scared they'll just shoot him now. But they don't, it's just silence. My eyes shift up and Daryl has moved and is talking to the others now. I can't hear the words that are exchanged or even see their faces properly. Daryl nods to Carl and then Daryl walks somewhere else, he's watching us. When I look back for Carl again, he's gone. _Where has that boy gone off to?_

Finally, Rick's only fifteen feet away from the gates, "Let 'em go, right now. I'll stay down here, talk as long as you want. But you let 'em go. You've gotta a tank, you don't need hostages. Especially a kid."

"I do," the Governor replies, in his sickly even tone, "this is just to show you I'm serious. Not to blast a hole in our new home. You and your people have till sundown to get outta here, or they die." my heart is up in my throat now, choking me and pounding ridiculously hard at the same time.

Rick shakes his head and his eyebrows are not furrowed, they are not angry, they are scared, "It doesn't have to go down this way."

"More people, more firepower," the Governor points out, "We need this prison. There it is, it's not about the past, it's about right now."

"There are children here," Rick pleads, "some of 'em are sick, they won't survive."

This causes an uneasy shift in the Governor's army, like they might not completely agree with the madman anymore.

"I have a tank," the Governor bluntly points out, "and I'm lettin' you walk away from here. What else is there to talk about?"

Rick looks at us, all of us, even me. And he sees the fear in my eyes and he swallows hard, this doesn't sit right with him. I look away from Rick for a moment, and Daryl's moving around again, doing something. The laundry carts, I realize, he's arming our people. They're gonna fight back, good. I look around up there some more and I spot the brown felt of the hat again, he's back. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Then again, do I want him out here? Do I want him to run the risk of getting shot, again?

Daryl works his way over to Carl and hands him a gun. By that time, the others are all loaded up.

The Governor speaks again, "I could shoot you all, y'all will shoot back. I know that. But we'll win and you'll be dead, all of you. Doesn't have to be like that, like I said, it's your choice." I hear the growling of walkers echo throughout the dead silence. People turns their heads, I hear a gun click, and then bang. One down, bang, two down, bang, they all fall down.

"Noise'll only draw more of them over," he points out and there's almost a sick glee to his tone. Like there's no way that Rick could not want to just leave now. His argument is full-proof, "Longer you wait, the harder it'll be for you to get outta here." Rick stares for a moment, his mouth slightly agape, considering the possibilities.

I look up; Daryl and Carl have their guns pointed now, ready for the first person to make a step out of line, and then BAM. Headshot. They could end this right now. He could be dead. _Shoot Carl, shoot! I know you can do it!_

_Stop that!_ I chastise myself, _Shooting the Governor right now will only cause his men to start the war that doesn't have to begin. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. _

I gnaw on the inside of my lips, you could cut the tension in the air with a knife, it's so thick.

"You've got about maybe an hour of sunlight left," the Governor estimates, "I'd suggest you start packin',"

Rick looks at Hershel, and I shift my eyes to Hershel. Hershel's looking at Rick. He's slightly nodding, as to say what he's nodding for, I don't know. Then he looks down and so does Rick.

"The longer you wait, the harder it's gonna be for you to get outta here," the Governor tells him plainly.

Rick nods and then looks up, not just at the Governor or Hershel, Michonne, and I, but at his army, "We can all," he starts, "We can all live together. There's enough room for all of us."

"More than enough," the Governor agrees, "I don't think my family'd sleep well knowing_ you _were under the same roof. _You're one to talk_.

Rick shakes his head, he's trying, he's trying so hard, "We can live in different cell blocks. We'd never have to see each other, until we're all ready."

Hershel pipes up for the first time, "It could work," he turns his head towards the Governor, "You know it could."

"It coulda, but it can't," the Governor replies, "Not after Woodbury." I sneak a glance at Michonne and her face is emotionless as it glares ahead, "Not after Andrea."

"Look, I'm not saying it's gonna be easy. Fact is, it's gonna be a helluva lot harder than just standin' here shootin' at each other. But I don't think we have a choice," Rick pushes.

"We don't," the Governor nods, "You do."

"We're not leaving," Rick shakes his head firmly, standing his ground.

The Governor exhales angrily.

"You try and force us, we'll fight back. Like you said gunshots'll just bring more of 'em out. They'll take down the fences, this place is worthless." Rick explains, some of his old fire crackling back into his voice, his calm demeanor is holding through though, "Now, we can all live in the prison, or none of us can."

I hear movement behind me and I start to turn around, the Governor jumps down from the tank and the blood and the adrenaline pump heavily through my veins and roar in my ears. I hear the swoosh of a sword being removed from its scabbard. Now I can hardly breathe, my arms are rigid behind me. I struggle not to tremble. The Governor walks up between Hershel and I, mumbling about the fences. The katana blade goes to Hershel's throat. The Governor has two hands grasped tightly on the hilt. Motion ceases throughout the prison, everyone tensed and afraid of what'll happen next.

You," Rick points to someone in the Governor's army, "you in the pony tails, is this what you want? Is this what any of you want?" he gestures to the whole group.

The man in the tank speaks up, "What we want is what you've got. Period. Time for you to leave, asshole."

"Look, I've fought him before," Rick points to the Governor, "and after, we took in his own friends, they've become leaders in what we have here. That girl," he points at me, "she came from Woodbury, now I would do anything to get her safely back over here. Now put down your weapons, walk through those gates. You're one of us." the soldiers look around at one another, considering the proposition. Even the Governor looks up, his harsh expression starting to crack

"We can let go of all of it, and nobody dies," Rick's voice is desperate now. I know he's scared, he'll do anything to keep everyone alive. "Everyone's alive right now, everyone's made it this far. We've all done the worst kinds of things just to stay alive. But we can still come back. We're not too far gone. "The blade moves from being pressed against Hershel's neck and I can breathe again. Yes, everything's gonna be alright. "We get to come back. I know we all can change." Hershel looks at him, and in that moment, I can tell, Hershel is proud of the man Rick has become. A slight smile forms on the old man's face. The Governor looks around slowly, almost in a stupor for a moment. He looks at the blade, that continues to be pulled away and then over to Rick. Who's standing there, almost wide eyed with desperation for everything to be alright.

A single word passes his lips then, "Liar."

Everything slows down, and then blade swings back, just barely missing me and it slashes into Hershel's neck.

Blood, all I see is blood, it's splattered on me, it's splattered on the Governor, and it's splattered on Michonne. And it's deep red color makes my churn. Because I can't see anything for a moment. Just the head that's chopped halfway off and the pure pain and agony that runs through my blood.

I scream and that's all I can do, but I'm not alone. They're screaming up at the prison. Hershel collapses to the ground and Rick screams something too, but I can't tell what it is because now guns are going off and I can only hear them. Hear guns and see blood, that's me. I roll to the ground and try and get out of the way, dodging behind the nearest truck. I can only hope Michonne does the same.

Now covered by the truck I get to my feet and try and work my bonds off. That's the first step, someone runs by, and I trip them. Then a blur happens, White hot pain succumbs my upper body. I'm on the ground. I see it on the ground and I feel it on my face and it feel it pulsing from me. Blood. My blood.


	17. Everywhere and Nowhere

There are times in your life, when things become so hectic and chaotic that you feel like you're everywhere and nowhere. Times like this differ greatly now than from what they were before. Before was more like when you're at a huge party where the bass of the music controls your heartbeat and you have to yell to have a conversation with the person just inches from you. You feel like you're everywhere and the only thing on earth. But still nowhere at the same time.

Now...

Guns rattle off in every direction, bouncing off cars or into people, but most of the time burrowing into the ground or trees. People are screaming, people are dying. I am both. Am I dying? I've never felt pain like this before. I feel like I'm drowning in death. Like I'm going to see all that I've lost soon. But then I think about all I would lose here. Carl. Is he still alive? Or has the sheriff hat fallen to the concrete along with the boy with the bright blue eyes. Have the eyes faded so much that not even the brightest day could illuminate them once more? Are they closed?

_He can't be dead._ Hope pulls at my chest. _He's survived so much more. He's fine. He's a survivor._ And Goddammit so am I. I know my face is covered in blood, but I don't care. I manage to sit up and assess my damage. The shot is on my left shoulder. It didn't hit my rib cage, so I'm safe there. It seems as though it was just below the joint where my shoulder and my collar bone connect. I feel my back to see if there's an exit wound. I hit the suspected area just a bit too hard and I see stars. I bite my tongue until the pain numbs out enough. Because that's just part of me right now, pain. It won't be repaired here, and I cannot just sit out until it can. I have to push through.

I stand up and all the movement is paralyzingly painful. My breathing is shaky and I force myself to move. The man who shot me is dead now. Someone else must've gotten to him.

_He won't be needing this anymore._ I pick up the gun that injured me. It's a semi-automatic with most of a magazine. Yes, I can do some damage with this. I run over to the next truck and I find a sight that makes me want to throw up. More blood. There's a still Hershel, head completely severed. Tears and pain want to pour from my body. But I cannot let that happen. Not now, I cannot. I push past the sight and sneak run behind the next vehicle. I stand up, shoot a man with dark hair, head shot. Move on. I gotta get in there. To my friends, I'm an easy shot here. I'm surprised I'm still alive honestly, Where's Michonne? _Is she still alive? Of course she is._ She has to be.

I hear It's voice. He doesn't deserve a name anymore. He is just It. It's just a disease, plaguing us nearly as terribly as the walkers, "Go toward the fences. Get in your cars, get your guns. We go in. Kill them all." that's it. No more sweet talk, no more nothing. Because It's just an empty shell now, anything It had left resembling a man disembarked when It decapitated Hershel.

The tank and cars all move forward until the fences are crushed beneath them. The bend and squeal and just the sound of it is enough to want to deafen myself. _Shit, they're gonna see me, they're gonna see me._

I walk forward with them, but I know I won't stay for long. I don't shoot at anybody. Can't draw attention to myself. Trucks pull away, so any shot of cover I had is gone. I run, and I don't stop. I hear the shots and I dodge them as best I can, I turn around and shoot down whoever I see. _One, two_. One's down. _Three,_ another. _Four, five, six_, one more. _Ok, that's enough, keep moving_. I run across the field, but I can't pump my arms to help myself because I'm almost certain that I'd drop on the spot from sheer agony. What I'm doing now is painful enough, and with each shot, I feel more and more in pure pain.

The adrenaline kicks in at some point, because one person shoots a little too close for comfort and a bullet whizzes by my ear. One arm pumps and I sling the gun over my back for more effective one armed pumping.

The tank blows holes in the prison and I see them, my friends and family, most are running. Towards the bus, that's where I have to get. I look to my right and I see two men. It and Rick. They're brutally duking it out beside the overturned bus. They're punching and throwing each other around, and then It throws Rick to the ground and begins punching him. My heart pulls into my throat and I want to scream. I raise my gun and aim at It's head. Then there's movement, Rick flails trying to get up and my finger moves from the trigger. I can't risk it. I settle for shooting at others instead. I take down three more and I sprint as best I can for the courtyard.

When I turn around to see who's left, I see something out past the fallen fences. Walkers, they're coming. It won't be long until we're overrun, and then what?

The prison is lost. The words register in my head for the first time. The place is well and truly lost. We can't come back from this. There's no way. What's important now is to find your family, or the next closest thing, and get out. To the bus preferably. For me, that thing is Carl, and I'm frantically searching for that brown sheriff hat, praying he's not dead.

I turn to where I saw Rick and It last, he's standing on Rick's throat now. No way I could miss. But I don't have to. A walker walks up behind It and I watch it all happen in what feels like slow motion. The walker takes a big bite out of It's shoulder. And It falls. My gun goes up real quick and I shoot the walker. It's so fluid, and just kind of happens. I wait for Rick to get up, I wait and I pray and my heart aches and aches the longer I wait. But he doesn't and eventually I have to look away.

My adrenaline over dosage begins to fade and my running comes off more as quickly limping. My shoulder feels like it's literally killing me. I sling the gun back across my back.

I hear an explosion and I look over, the tank is up in flames. I make it to the courtyard. Dust is kicked up in the air and I can't see through it properly. I don't have the energy to scream for anybody even though I know I should. I grasp my shoulder and I stumble a little further. I hear the moaning and growling and look up, two walkers.

I start to reach for my gun, but I hear a shot, and one goes down. Another shot, down goes the other.

The dust clears and I see him. Carl. My heart swells with relief and I want to run for him, but I stumble more. I feel my blood oozing between my fingers. Then I realize his gun's pointed at me.

"Carl," the word barely comes out as a whisper. . My hand reaches out for him. And I watch his face. It recognizes me, but at the same time looks pained, and the gun doesn't move. He pumps the gun, "Carl!" I call out as loud as I can manage. His eyebrows raise with relief and the gun falls, not only from aiming, but out of his hands completely. He runs over to me and nearly tackles me in a hug.

I'm so glad to be able to have him here. He's not dead, I'm holding him, he's alive. And the pleasure of it all is almost enough to forget how much damn pain I'm in. He's squeezing too tight, a gurgled gasp of agony passes my lips.

"You were right there, and then I saw you go down. I thought you were one of those things," he chokes on his words, "I was so scared I was gonna have to-" he can't continue.

"Hey, it's alright," I try and reassure him. He finally pulls away and looks over me, trying to wipe the blood from my face, his lip quivers.

"You're shot," he sees the blood that's dying my clothes an ugly color, "Oh my God, you're shot. Is there a-" his hand goes to my back, trying to find the-

"Exit wound," I wince, my chest heaves with the new load of pain that overcomes me.

"Have you seen my dad? Or Judith?" his eyes are so wide, and it's hard to believe he's ill.

"Carl," I start, and then he starts to walk over towards the field. Where I saw it happen. When he gets close enough, he stops and stiffens up. I only see one body. But the blood, it's everywhere. There's no doubt.

"No," he chokes out, "No, no, no, no, no. Dad!" he bawls, and tears are streaming down his cheeks. His chest is shaking and he's nearly hyperventilating. I just stand there, unsure of what to do or how. I put my hand on his shoulder, "No," he sobs; it comes out long and painful.

"Carl," the words come out quietly and gently.

"Judith. We have to find her." I let go, but I don't know how easily I'll be able to walk. Though he's drowning in his own grief, he realizes my issue and he wraps his arm so that his hand grabs my right shoulder, the good one. We walk slow, and he picks up his gun and a pack I hadn't noticed before as we go.

I think we help each other around the burning courtyard. But once we turn a corner. I see it. The end-all be-all of horrific. I stop walking and my bad arm goes around Carl and though it hurts me like hell, I hold him back as best I can.

There it lies, about fifteen away. Judith's carrier, empty, blood spattered and drenched in red. Carl makes us go forward and all I can do is mumble and tell him not to. He can't.

He's silent at first, he just sniffs and his eyes close, like he's trying to stay together. He's just lost his entire family. I know how that feels. I look up and there's another walker. Carl yanks away from me and I manage to stay on my feet.

He shoots the walker. It goes down, but he pumps it again, shooting it even though it's on the ground. He does it again and again and again until there are no bullets left and he's just tensed with his gun, pumping and pulling the trigger.

"Carl!" I call out and get over to him. I grab him from behind as he falls over. He's making these awful crying noises that make my heart ache too much. He bends over, and I'm worried I'm going to have to hold him up, which I can barely keep myself on my own two feet.

"Wegottago," I tell him, and he turns around and hugs me again. Not because he's relieved to see me this time, but because I'm the only one still alive.

"We have to go," I insist. He sobs again and nods, he settles his arm back where it was and we stumble away. We're both broken. Just in different ways.

We're headed into the forest now, and I feel Carl look back. At this point, my vision is tunneling and I can't tell how much further I'll be able to go on.

"Don't look back, Carl. Just keep walking," I choke out. And he doesn't.

"What're we gonna do?" he chokes out, scared and afraid, "Where we gonna go?"

I let out a distorted chuckle that I'm sure is associated with hysteria, "We've got everywhere and nowhere to go."


	18. Gone

Being gone is like being broken, you can reach the state of gone rather easily. It's not hard; you fade for a bit, your sanity kind of dips. You can always come back, unless you're too far gone.

We limp away from the prison until the sun starts to set. In that time I go from bad to worse and Carl has taken to mumbling angrily to himself. The tears that fell from his face have long dried. He doesn't let go of me, not once. His arm is rigid against my back and every now and then I look over at him. He just grimaces. His Beretta is strapped to its holster on his thigh. And his left hand fiddles with the gun and his mumbling gets louder and more unintelligible.

"Carl?" I cough out

His head shakes his head slightly, snapping out of his trance. and he coughs too, but mine was from being weak, his is from being ill, "What?" he looks at me.

"Stop," I tell him, and my feet stop moving. _Ok, maybe this was a bad idea_. Now that I've stopped, I'm not sure if I can start again. We're walking through a long abandoned neighborhood. The houses here are nice; I imagine someone once paid well to live in such a well-off area. Now some grungy kids are walking around the place freely.

I reach my right hand up and press it against Carl's sweaty forehead, he burns distinctly of fever. _It's back again_. Carl turns his head away from me and coughs into his elbow.

"We need to find a place for the night. You're fever's back up, your meds have probably long worn off," I tell him, my eyebrows raised with concern, "We'll have to search this neighborhood for what they've got tomorrow. But for now, you just need to lie down." my eyes look right into his, and the blue isn't as potent as it was this morning. The day and the illness have taken its toll on him.

He looks at me in disbelief, "Me? Rest? Have you seen yourself?" his voice cracks as his eyes run over me. His tongue nervously runs over his lips and he bites on them so hard they lose their pinkness.

"Ok," I shrug, "So both of us could use it. Point being, we need to clear out a place before we lose all light."

He nods slowly, still gnawing on the inside of his lips, "This place is as good as any." he nods to the house that's sits directly to the left of us.

"Can you walk?" Carl looks at me nervously. I lift my arm from him, and there's a coolness left behind from him not being there. He moves his arm away and I manage to stand.

"Yeah," I nod. I force myself to stand up straight, and I try to walk like I can.

Carl walks in front of me, so I let my shoulders slack a little, because my vision is starting to cloud from the pain radiating from my left one. I still carry the gun that injured me, it's still pretty full if I'm recalling correctly. My knife is surprisingly still strapped to my waist, I'm surprised they looked it over after being in It's clutches like I was. I'm armed, I can do this. I hold up the gun, ready to fire at whatever comes my way.

"I'll go in first, you keep watch," he turns around to me.

"No," I shake my head, "Carl. You know I can do this. I'm not gonna stand here alone waiting for nothing." my eyebrows knit together and I look at him as seriously as I can manage.

"But-"

"But nothing Carl. You're nearly as bad off as I am. What if a walker sneaks up on you? We're not splitting up." end of discussion. I think he's too exhausted to waste any more energy on a pointless argument, he turns around and he opens the door. We push in fast and look all around, pointing our guns in all directions. It's clear from what we see. I go left, and Carl goes right. He shuts the door behind us and we go to work.

Making sure each room has no walkers. It's a slow process, opening doors, quickly scanning with a pointed gun, and when you're sure there's nothing, move on.

I go through a few rooms and then Carl ends up in the room in front of me.

"Carl!" I call

"I got it!" he snaps, I'm caught off guard by the way he asserts himself at me, he looks at me and must read the look of shock on my face, because then his voice softens out, "All the doors down here are open. I've got it, alright?"

"Just, stop, be careful," my voice is soft, because I can't make it any louder. Not only am I not supposed to, I physically can't anymore. He turns around and puts down his gun, giving me an aggravated look.

"You sound like my dad," he rolls his eyes, then his eyes look away, he's regretting his words. Then a strange thing happens, a look of pain becomes a look of anger. And it's like he's not looking at me anymore, he's looking past me, and his hand clenches into a fist and he slams it against the wall, "Hey asshole! Hey shitface! Hey-"

I rush over to him, my hand rests on his shoulder and I look him dead in the eyes, "Carl. Stop. There's none of them down here. If there were, we woulda seen 'em come out, alright? There's no reason to go breaking the walls down," a small smile forms at the corners of my mouth as I lighten my tone.

He blinks again, and he's snapped out of it, "Right, let's just check upstairs." still obviously fazed, all the anger has not quite left his expression. I give him a sympathetic look, the smile fading away, I rub his upper arm reassuringly and I nod, turning away.

We head up the stairs and follow the same procedure. We meet up in this one room, the last one; it's obviously once belonged to a teenager. It's kind of broken into two parts, the main room and then sleeping area, with the bed. There are posters still hanging up on the walls of bands that have long disbanded for dying reasons. Trinkets and knickknacks line shelves. There's books too, oh my precious books. And there's a TV in the corner, flat screen. Next to it is a pile of video games that Carl immediately flocks to. A smile spreads across his face and he holsters his gun, he sets the pack he's been carrying on the ground, and picks up one of the games. He looks over it for a moment, then it's like he's scolding himself for getting caught up in things that don't matter and then throws it on the ground. I take a small step back at his actions. He pushes down the rest of the games, and then yanks the HDMI cable from the console and the TV. He wraps it around his hand and then walks out of the room without another word.

I follow him downstairs, the sun has gone away now, and he's harder to see. I watch by what little light I have as he goes to the door, there's a knob that used to hold back a curtain, he starts wrapping the cable around the two and then ties a knot.

"Will it hold?" I ask, the words speaking my mind though I didn't grant them to pass my lips.

"It's a strong knot," he nods, and he sounds normal, but then the look of anger comes back, and it's like he's gone out of sync again, he looks slightly to my right, to a figure that isn't there, "Clove hitch, Shane taught me. Remember him?" his words are bitter, like he's trying to make me hurt. But not me, someone else. But there's no one else here. I haven't the slightest of who the hell Shane is.

"Carl?" I speak up, and he looks at me, anger breaking.

"Yeah, it'll hold." he insists.

I linger a bit longer, worried about him, but then decide I'd better scope out the kitchen. Gotta try and find us some food. Carl walks by and heads to the backyard. It's fenced in, he should be fine. He's gotta a gun, and if he screams, I'll come.

In the kitchen, the fridge is open, food is rotten in there. It gives off an awful odor, but I persevere and in reward, I find three large, unopened water bottles. I place them on the counter; I open the cabinets and find a couple unopened bags of pork rings, a still sealed bag of beef jerky, and a box of cornflakes. _Yes, we shall feast like kings tonight._ I'm about to call Carl in and show him the haul, but then he starts yelling.

I pull my knife from its holder and a burst of adrenaline rushes through me, and I run out the door. Then I hear the words he's yelling and I stop, I freeze. I'm only in the doorway. I don't think he's noticed me, he's yelling to the clear, night sky.

"I killed so many walkers." he shouting, but his voice quiets down, "But they were attacking us. So it was ok, you would've expected that from me. I saved her, Sam, she's here with me now. We found a house. There weren't any of them here. So I didn't have to kill anymore." he pauses for a moment, and he looks down for a moment, then he glares at the sky again, "I didn't forget though, while you had us playing farmer. I still know how to survive. Lucky for us. I can keep her safe. Better than you could've, playing it safe on the sidelines. It didn't help in the end, did it?" his yelling again, screaming even, "I don't need you anymore. I don't need you to protect me anymore. Not that you can protect me anyways," he chokes up a little, , "You couldn't protect Judith, you couldn't protect-" he stops again, like he can't say who he lost, it's too painful, but then he crescendos again, starting out small, at a hiss, until it gets bigger and bigger all of his fury and anger boiling up, screaming at the sky, "Hershel, or Glenn, or Maggie, Michonne, Daryl. Or Mom."

He drops his biggest bomb and it all connects now. It's his dad, he's talking to his dad, I choke up a little, but he ain't done yet, "You just wanted to plant vegetables. You just wanted to hide. He knew where you were and you didn't care." he's back to screaming, and I'm scared he's going to draw walkers. _Let him release it, it has to be done_. I tell myself, "You just hid behind those fences and waited for-" he stumbles on his words, like he's trying to find a point in his rambling, "They're all gone now! Because of you! They counted on you! You were their leader!" he stops, and it's like he can't stand being on his own two feet anymore. He sits down and pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. His head lowers, his forehead resting on his arms, "And now," he's quieter now, "You're gone too." he sniffs, and I think he's finally done. I walk over to him, my feet crushing the grass, making noise. I sort of stumble, my hand goes to my wound, it hurts like hell. But not as badly as my heart aches. He doesn't look up. I know he heard me, but if I were a walker, I don't think he'd care.

"Carl," my voice is that uncontrollably quiet again, my hand rests on his shoulder, "I, uh, I found food. Let's get something in you, alright?"

He looks up and he looks afraid of me. Or not of me, just what I think of him, "How much did you hear?"

"A lot," I admit, I give him a sympathetic look, "it's ok. I miss my dad too."

He stands up and he hugs me, he tries to be gentle, but he starts to break down again, and he squeezes a little too tightly. Tears slip down his cheeks and onto my blood drenched jacket.

"Am I insane?" he mumbles into my good shoulder.

"No," I shake my head, rubbing his back, "You're just human. And ill." my tone lightens up, half teasing him at the same time, "You're an ill human who's sleep deprived and needs some food. Come on now," I let go, and he releases me almost reluctantly, I take his left hand with my right and we walk back into the house.

We grab a bag of pork rinds and one of the bottles of water to split, then we head upstairs. We don't really talk about it, but I think we both feel safer sleeping up there.

We pass the pack and I stop, he's taken to helping me walk again, so he has to stop too. I nod towards it, "What's in there anyways?"

"I ran into the prison and grabbed what I could. Dad said in case things head south." He chokes up, "So this is what I managed to get away with."

We sit down there, and he goes to unpacking, "I got most of what we had in that room, well minus your clothes and the pillows and blankets. They wouldn't fit, I'm sorry."

"'s alright," I shrug.

"However, I did get away with all the meds," my eyes grow wide as he empties all of the bottles out, even the Delsym.

"Oh, Carl, this is great!" I instantly start to pour out the dosage Carl needs, and I put them all in a pile, including the aspirin. He takes a swig of water and takes all the pills down in two chugs. I pour the Delsym and he gives me an unhappy look, but drinks the stuff anyway. He tries to hide his reaction, but it's still there. He eats a couple pork rinds to help ease the flavor from his mouth.

"Alright, you fixed me up. Now I'm gonna help you out." He gives me a pointed look, "You better be thankful you aren't coughing, or else I'd be giving you a whole lot of Delsym." He smirks for the first time since we were at the prison and I can't help but break into a smile.

"I am fortunate indeed then," I smirk back at him.

"You get that jacket off," Carl nods at my jacket, "I'll go see if there's any bandages or gauze we can use to cover up your wound. Take some aspirin. Maybe 3." He stands up and pats my good shoulder. He walks out of the room.

I gingerly remove my soiled jacket and my shoulder screams in protest. Tears fill my eyes and I blink them away, biting hard on my lip. I slip the sleeve of my tank top off my shoulder and I finally see it for the first time.

I bite my tongue again, must keep my dinner down. It looks about as bad as I feel, and suddenly I don't want Carl to see. I don't want him to see how bad it really is. I fix the strap so it's back where it belongs. I take the aspirin like I'm supposed to, and I drink some water and eat a few more pork rinds.

Carl's back after a few moments and he crouches down beside me, balancing on the balls of his feet. But he's not as stable as he could be. I reach out and grab his shoulder, steadying him.

"Let's see it then," Carl sighs, a ball of gauze wadded up in his hand.

"Carl, I'm not sure..." I trail off.

"It's ok. I know what it's like." His eyes are soft and understanding. His moods can switch so quickly.

I reluctantly move the strap, exposing my shoulder, Carl grimaces, "It's a lotta blood. I'm sure it won't look as bad once we clean it up." He stands back up and removes his dirty flannel shirt and rips off part of the sleeve. I think I saw some rubbing alcohol in one of the cabinets, I'll be back." I nod, and once he leaves, I look around, my only aid in light being in the moon. There's a bar with clean clothes hung on it. They were obviously a teenage boy's.

In a strange way, I can imagine this being Carl's room, if the world hadn't gone to shit. It just seems like the kind of room he would have. Same kind of clothes too, t-shirts and flannel.

I stand up and I go to the rack of clothes. I'm definitely wobbly, and my head is still feeling a bit foggy from all the blood I've lost. I grab one of the flannel shirts and I turn around, Carl's inches in front of me, I didn't even hear him come. _God, I'm really losing my edge._

"Here," I hand him the flannel, "Since you ripped the other one."

"Thanks," he takes it, "I got that rubbing alcohol, and I found some Advil." He shows me the two bottles.

"Good," I nod. He slips the new flannel onto his shoulders, but he doesn't button it up, exposing the dirty t-shirt underneath. Sometimes you can't hide it all. The flannel is gray and blue, it's bright and looks almost new. It goes well with his eyes if I do say so myself.

"Now, let's clean you up," he tries to put a confident air in his voice. We go back to the pack and I let him play doctor.

He dowses the ripped part of the shirt in the rubbing alcohol, he starts to move toward my shoulder and then he looks at me to see if I'm ok with it. I nod and he gingerly presses the cloth against my shoulder. It burns like hell and I want to scream. Instead I clutch Carl's empty hand and I squeeze it hard.

He cleans off most the blood. And it's clotted up at the circular hole, so I'm not bleeding anymore. Carl's right though, it doesn't look nearly as repulsive once it's been cleaned up.

"I'm gonna get the back now, ok?" Carl looks at me and I nod in confirmation. He rips off another part of his old shirt and repeats the process. I bite my tongue until the bitter taste of blood fills my mouth. Then Carl moves back in front of me.

"Um, to wrap the gauze properly, you're gonna have to..." He trips over his words and even in the near darkness I can see his cheeks flush. I get it, I have to get my shirt off, or at least completely remove one of the sleeves. Which is basically him asking me to partially strip, even if it's just the strap of the tank top.

I'd do it for him, but I'm not sure if I can do it right. So I slip my arm out of my tank top and he can't quite look at me. He wraps my shoulder as quickly as he can, still keeping the quality of the wrap in mind. Once he's done, I slip my arm back into my shirt and I get up. I walk to the clothing rod and grab another one of the shirts.

"You go ahead and get settled, I'm gonna change." I nod my head backward towards the door, and he nods his head in understanding. I turn around and leave the room, I turn to the left and head down the hall. The bathroom is the second door on the left. There's a window without the blinds shut so moonlight streams in through and hits my face and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

The image scares me and I understand how Carl could've thought that I had turned. My face is almost entirely covered in blood, except where Carl tried to wipe it off, mostly around my eyes. My hair is a tangled mess, filled with grass and dirt, I'm pretty sure my beanie is knotted around it, because it's still hanging in there. My shirt is drenched in blood and my eyes have dark circles around them. My eyes themselves look even uglier than usual, they are faded and dim. They look like walker eyes. The white bandaging looks out of place on my dirty skin. Like it doesn't belong.

I know it's a waste of water, but I can't leave my face like this. I grab a hand towel and give it a new purpose. I spare 4 bottle cap full's of water and use them to clean my face off, and try to bring back some of the humanity.

I scrub most of it off, and now I just look exhausted, but at least human. I try to untangle some of the knots in my hair with my fingers, but it's pretty bad. I manage to yank out my beanie and re-situate it on my head. I yank off the bloody tank top. I hope it rains soon, I'm going to need to clean my jacket and this shirt, winter's coming and I haven't many clothes to work with. I slide the new-to-me t-shirt over my head, it's baggy on my circumstantially-slender body, the shirt hangs to the middle of my thighs. My jeans are ripped at the knees and I honestly don't feel like sleeping in them tonight. The shirt covers enough. I unlace my Docs and pull off my jeans.

My eyelids are heavy, they've finally decided it's safe enough to sleep. My body concurs completely. I ball up my clothes in one hand and my boots in the other. I shuffle towards the room where Carl is and I peek my head in.

"Hey, I'm gonna go sleep in one of the other rooms, you gonna be alright in here?" I call. He emerges from the little half room with the bed.

"No," he shakes his head, "It's ok if you stay in here. I won't bite." his cheeks are flushed, nervous about what he just proposed. He smirks a little at the bite line. He obviously doesn't realize I have a severe lacking in pants. So I step so that I'm halfway in the doorway.

"But you need the bed, you're sick," I point out, trying to not play out the thought I had going in my head. He looks me over and I think he blushes even more.

"You're injured, you need it just as bad. Plus, I thought you agreed you weren't gonna leave me," he explains in almost a taunting way. But it's not quite as successful because his cheeks are so red.

"I'm just gonna be next door," I try and tell him. He walks over to me, stopping to let out a brief cough on the way.

He grabs my hand, and his voice cracks, like he doesn't want to let on his desperation show, but really he can't help it, "Sam, please, I _need_ you. The way you needed me. Nightmares, remember? I get them too," Of course, I can't imagine why I didn't catch on earlier. He's lost so much today, he'll be hit hard tonight. So I finally agree.

He offers to help me get to the bed, and I agree, I don't really want to put my weight on him, especially since he's weak. But it's not like he'll ever admit to that. He's too stubborn. But I'm also too exhausted and in too much pain to care. I kind of throw my clothes by his pack, but we don't stop for that. He helps me onto the bed, and I scoot over to the far side and Carl bends down to grab something at the foot of the bed. I immediately cover up my bare legs with the bed covers, and I sit cross-legged, the wall propping my back up, waiting to see what he picked up.

"The meds weren't the only thing I got, you know," Carl tells me, and I narrow my eyes, confused for a moment, "now there wasn't much time, and so I only grabbed a couple. And I know it's not much. But, I couldn't think about us leaving the prison without them."

He shows me two books. _Little House on the Prairie_ and _Peter Pan: the Story of the Lost Boy_. I gasp escapes my mouth and I look at him in disbelief. I reach over and hug that kid. Of all the things he could've grabbed, and he got the books.

I pull away and I study him for a moment, he could be gone. And maybe he is, just a little. But he can come back, I know he will. He certainly isn't too far gone.


	19. Rest

Sometimes, the best medicine is just rest. A good night's sleep can do a person a hell of a lot of good. But not all night's sleeps are good, nor can they be. But resting is always good, and sometimes that's all we've got, especially now.

That night I sleep well, and I assume Carl does too, because he doesn't wake me. Or maybe he doesn't sleep well, but I'm too deeply asleep to notice.

When I wake up, sunlight is already streaming through the window onto my face. Judging by the angle the sun comes from, I'd estimate it's mid-morning.

I turn around so that my back faces the wall. Carl's there. His eyes are nearly back to their usual bright blue and they are the first thing to greet me. His hair is already sweaty, like he's been out this morning. I notice that he's changed into a blue and gray baseball tee.

"How'd you sleep?" I ask him, I prop myself up on my right arm, resting my cheek against my palm.

"Ok," he shrugs, "A couple walkers were trying to get in earlier, I lured them away."

"You didn't hurt yourself I hope?" I lift my eyebrows curiously.

He smirks a little and shakes his head, like he's laughing at something only he knows, "Nope, I had everything under control." Everything? I sit up and press the back of my right hand against his forehead.

"Fever's gone down," I comment, "have you been coughing?"

He shakes his head, "I haven't taken any antibiotics this morning either."

I let a smile, "Good, that's good," I'm feeling woozy already. I move my shoulder, trying to situate myself, and pain hits me hard, and I blink rapidly.

"Lay back down, you shouldn't over exert yourself," Carl instructs. He pushes slightly on my right shoulder. Ha Ha. I get it, he's only doing to me what I did to him. I'm ashamed of my weakness. _I wasn't this weak yesterday, why should I be today?_

I obey his orders though, lying back down, "We're alike now, you and me," I give him a hazy smirk, "we're both shot."

Carl smiles back at me, but then a more serious expression crosses his face. Like he's remembering. Then he removes the sheriff hat and places it on my head, grabbing my beanie with the other, he makes the switch. He pushes it down and a smile spreads wide across his face as he studies mine with the hat on now, "You're in the club now." Oh, I feel so special. I just grin, and then I grin even more when I get an idea.

"Lean over," I instruct him. And he does, I take my beanie that's balled up in his hand, and I push it onto his brown locks. Carl gives me an unsure look, and I let out a small laugh.

"Not too bad Grimes," I chuckle and he smirks, shaking his head. I'm not joking either, he could make it work. If he were that kind of guy. But he's not. He doesn't ride skateboards and rock out to Indie music and make whatever he does look cool. He's the sheriff hat wearing, shooting walkers, time hardened kind of guy. And personally I favor the latter more.

I start to take off his hat and hand it back to him, "It looks better on you," he stops me. I shake my head, and I tell him to lean over, and I switch the beanie back with his hat. I try to push the hat down, but it doesn't go very well and the hat ends up falling over his eyes. I chuckle a little, and he does too, pushing up the brim of his hat with the bent flat of his pointer finger.

"There, much better," I smirk again. Everything comes out easily this morning, maybe it's because I'm so weak, so I don't think through my words as much. Maybe it's because I'm not trying to hide anything from him, trying to protect him from the truth. Or maybe it's because you have to find some light to guide you through your darkest days.

"I, uh, changed your bandaging while you were asleep," he blushes, and it takes me a moment to realize what he's saying.

I snort, "Yeah, whatever," I shrug, trying to act like I don't mind, when really I feel like blushing too. I squeeze my beanie in my hand, trying to release some of the nervous tension in my hand.

"We're running low on bandages, so I'm probably going to need to clear some of the neighborhood today. To get other stuff too, but especially bandages." He tells me. I don't like the idea of us splitting up. Especially if he means to keep me cooped up in here.

"I can come with you," I offer.

He shakes his head, "No, you need to stay here and rest. Get better. We can stay here for a few days, but then we gotta move on."

"Carl, I'll be fine. Just give me a couple hours to rest and then I'll be fine. It wouldn't hurt you to rest as well, you know." I point out.  
"Sam, I don't know. You can hardly sit up." He frets, his thin lips pressing together nervously.

"I'll. Be. Fine." I insist. My eyebrows raise, trying to see if he'll challenge me.

He sighs, "Only a few hours. But if you still need me to help you walk by then, you aren't going." His tone is insistent and final. I glare at him for a moment.

"You should rest too, I know it looks good now. But it could come back. Do your body a favor and nap." I plead. If we can get at least one of us back to 100% that'd be fantastic.

But until then this is the way it's gonna be. I take care of him, he takes care of me. We take care of each other. And it feels right. Like this is the way it's supposed to be.

Carl listens thankfully, and he lays down next to me, he places the hat over his eyes and rests his head on his hands which he's folded beneath his head. His eyes close and his mouth is slightly parted. He's out in a couple minutes and I follow him into the darkness of sleep not long after.

When I wake up, Carl's turned over onto his stomach and one arm is splayed protectively over my torso. The hats fallen completely off and his breathing is even and deep. All good things. I want to believe that the flu has finally left him and he's my normal healthy Carl again. He certainly seems that way. But I know too well that can change in a matter of hours.

He starts to twitch and lets out a noise that could almost be classified as a whimper. He bolts to the sitting position and his arm is off of me in a moment. He is breathing heavy and I sit up and look at him.

"Carl?"

"I, I'm fine." He shakes his head, "It was just a bad dream." His knees are pulled up to his chest and his arms are tightly wrapped around his legs. No, he is not fine.

I gently rub his back, "It's ok. It's ok to miss them."

He chokes up a little, "It's just hard to believe they're all dead, you know? Like yesterday I was just talking to my dad and now he's...he's..."

"Carl, you don't know that. You don't know they're all dead." my voice is soft and gentle, trying to reassure him. If I say it, it means I believe it, right?

"You honestly think he wouldn't have looked for me if he was still alive?" He looks at me in disbelief.

"Carl. We had to get out quick. Some of them have to be alive. There's no way. They can't all be gone." I rub his forearm and he grabs my hand, holding it tightly.

He looks at me, his eyes intent on mine, "I'm glad I got out with you. I'm glad you're not dead too." he smiles a little.

I blush, ducking my head, "Well I'm glad to have you too. Now come on, let's get something to eat and head out."

"You gonna be alright?" He looks me over.

"Yeah, like I said, resting does a hell of a lotta good." I shrug. He chuckles and then he gets up off the bed. He helps me to my feet. And I pull the t-shirt down as far as it'll go. My legs feel so exposed.

"I'll run down stairs get us something to eat, if you wanna get ready or..." His eyes run nervously over me, "whatever it is you need to do. Then I'll be waiting. Just don't take too long." He's still on edge. And not just from the nightmare. I suspect he'll be that way for a while.

He turns and leaves without another word. I look back at the bed after a moment of just nothing. He left his hat. I just shake my head. Silly Carl, forgetting your hat. I pick up and carry it to the pack that's still sitting on the middle of the bigger room. I set it down and grab my pants.

Getting ready is a slow process, mainly because I can only effectively use arm. But eventually I've tugged my jeans on and I haphazardly tie the laces to my Doc Martens. I grab another of the flannel shirts that hangs on the rack. I tuck in the T-shirt and roll up the sleeves of the black and gray flannel shirt. It hangs long and loose on my body. I situate my beanie properly and I grab Carl's hat and make sure the pack is empty and take that with me downstairs too.

"Forgot your hat," I call, as I step into the kitchen. He springs around, his fingers hovering over his gun. It takes him a moment to see it's me, and he moves his hand away.

"You startled me," his voice shakes slightly.

I look him and then his hand which is still dangerously close to the gun, and then back at him, "I can tell."

"Still feeling up to going?" He moves his hand completely away now. But his arms are tensed still and his eyes are wide.

"Yeah," even if I wasn't, there's no way I was letting Carl go out on his own. I hand him the hat.

He looks over my outfit again, and he chuckles a little, like he's trying to relief tension, but he's also honestly amused.

"What? Do you have something to say about my extremely comfortable and attractive shirt?" I tease.

He smirks, "No, no. It looks great." he can't help but laughing a little more. I roll my eyes.

"Here," he hands me a bowl of dry cereal, "this is what we've got."

I take the bowl from him and I go through the drawers until I find a spoon. I grab my spoon and sit at the table in the dining room, which is the next room over. Carl sits across from me, he's already finished his bowl.

"Man," I sigh, "I wish we had some soy milk or something." I wouldn't say it's good, but it's certainly better than just eating it plain and dry.

His lip curls, "Seriously?"

"Have you ever tried it?" I lift a questioning eyebrow at him

"My best friend in third grade, he was allergic to dairy," Carl begins.

"Uh huh," I nod, narrowing my eyes slightly.

"And every day, he'd bring this soy stuff to lunch. I tried it," he explains

"And?" I push

"I threw up!" he laughs again

"Yeah right," I roll my eyes and take another bite of my cereal. It's Corn Flakes.

"Alright, alright," he confesses, "I _almost_ threw up, but I was like_Bleahhh_!" he mimics puking actions. And I let out a laugh and he's laughing too, and the mood in the air is all light and good.

I shake my head at Carl, _silly boy, overreacting._I roll my eyes, and he's trying to convince of its grossness.

"It was so gross! I mean literally! I'd rather have powdered milk, than to drink that stuff again. I would rather have Judith formul-" he cuts himself off. And he stops, staring at me. His eyes start to dim before my own. They drown in his slip of words. And he gets up, pushing his chair back. He sets the hat on his head which had been previously resting next to him on the table.

He starts mumbling to himself again and I think I catch a, "Hurry up and finish," and then he's gone. Back into the kitchen.

I don't call out for him. There's no point. No amount of comfort or reassurance could really fix him. It'll just take time.

I finish up my cereal staring at the wallpaper on the walls, cursing myself for bringing something up as stupid as soy milk in the first place.

I walk back into the kitchen and Carl's leaning up against the counter, head down, his eyes are hidden by the brim of the hat. He has hi gun out and he's fiddling with the safety. I set my bowl in the sink, like I would've if I still lived in my home. If I still had a home. If I still had a family for a home._Stop it Sam. You can't be like this now. You have to be strong._

It clinks when the bowl hits the sink, and Carl's head bolts up, he's obviously been startled, again.

"Come on," I nod my head towards the front door, "we should head out." he nods but doesn't say anything. My gun rests by the front door and I pick it up as we head out. Carl insists on taking the lead again, and I shake it off._Let him be 'Big Strong Man Carl', I don't have a valid reason to protest._He walks a couple paces in front of me and I hold my knife. The gun is slung over my back. No reason to waste ammo unless we have to. We go house to house, picking up what we find. Anything that could be useful. We find water bottles and cans of soup. One house has peach preserves and Carl and I both agree that we're sharing that tonight.

We get to this one house, and Carl stops on the walkway to pick up one of those solar powered lamp things that stick into the ground. He pulls it out and one end is at a point, though admittedly not a sharp one. He looks at me, and I indicate my knife to show that I'm fine. He nods and he walks onto the porch, I follow him, curious to see what that boy is thinking. He pauses for a moment and then charges at the door, slamming his shoulder into it. The door doesn't give and Carl smacks against the ground on his back. The hem of his shirt rises, and there's a small band of skin exposed between the waistband of his pants and the hem of his baseball tee. I hold back a smile, for two reasons. One of them being that was just plain funny. "Dammit," he grumbles, looking up at me, "Little help?" I roll my eyes and extend my arm. I pull him up and the hat falls off. I bend down and set it on his head.

"Better your shoulder than mine," I offer, he rolls his eyes. He tries again, this time, starting with his shoulder pushed up against the door, he picks at the lock and his shoving avails.

We get into the house and it's immediately clear, its riches are plenty. But before we can plunder the kitchen, we have to check upstairs. I leave my gun downstairs, because it's only getting in my way, and the strap cuts into my shoulder painfully.

Carl leads the way up the stairs and there are three rooms, two have opened doors. He says he'll check out the first room which is to the right, he nods at me to check out the second, which is straight ahead. B

There's a sign on the door, Carl walks over to me and nudges me with his elbow, "Hey look, Sam, it's your room." he cracks a smile and I nudge him back, rolling my eyes.

"Ha ha." I laugh dryly, "Don't you have a job to do?" he rolls his eyes at me and goes to clean out his room. I walk in and it becomes comes clear quickly that it's clear of walkers. I find some Tylenol in a nightstand drawer. There's a connecting bathroom, and I find the gauze we need. There's a ton of it too. I pocket it all, along with a book I found on the nightstand. Have to start building up on my stash again. I close the door to the second room, just as Carl's closing the door to the room he checked out.

"Find anything?" I ask, he nods, he indicates that it's in the bag and we go onto the third room. The one with the closed door. I put my loot in his bag and we walk to the farthest door.

I pull my knife out and start to open the door, I move slowly, but it doesn't last for long. A walker lunges out and tries to push through.

"Shit!" I yell, and Carl and I push hard to get the door shut. It's rotting arms stretch around trying to grab us. Dried blood forms at it's knuckles and it's skin is ugly and gray. My gut lurches at the repulsiveness. I don't think and use my left shoulder to help force the door shut. The adrenaline flows thickly through me so the pain is less severe, but I know I'll regret my decision later. Carl's pushing too, and the hand is close enough to grab his hat. We push hard and its other arm snaps against the door. The bone gruesomely breaks the skin, and black blood oozes out. Carl moves from the door so he can get a shot at the walker and it flings the door back.

I'm thrown against the wall and fall with a thump to the ground my knife flies out of my hand. I see Carl trip, his gun aims poorly and two shots fire into the ceiling. I get to my feet as quickly as I can, I reach for my gun and curse aloud when I remember it's downstairs, I don't have that kind of time.

The walker is closer now and Carl lets out one more shot. It hits the walker and it falls to the ground, giving Carl enough time to get to his feet. I search frantically for my knife._Where the hell is it?!_

It crawls towards Carl and I am powerless, I have to hope. Then I hear Carl's gun click, it's empty. _Shit_. It grabs Carl's foot and he kicks it away. It comes back, hungry for fresh meat. It paws hungry for Carl's flesh. He kicks and kicks again, his teeth not quite purging Carl's skin. I get to my feet and kick the walker in the head, I don't break the skull. Unfortunately.

I pull Carl up and I push him into the room with the sign that reads my name. We shove the door trying to get it closed. There's books in the way. Oh come on! I shove the door shut as much as I can and try to hold it there. Then Carl goes to the window trying to open it up. The walker pushes me back and I'm trapped behind the door. I see it's ugly peeling head stumble towards Carl.

"Carl!" I scream, he's frantically trying to get the window open, then the walker's only a heartbeat away. Carl grabs the lamp and slams it into the walkers head. The walker goes to the ground, but pulls Carl down with it. I get out from behind the door and grab Carl's arm. The walkers got a hard grip on his leg and his teeth are going for the ankle.

"Not today, shitface." I growl, I pull Carl up and away, but the walker manages to steal his hiking boot. I kick the books into the room, and slam the door shut. Carl stands beside me panting. His back is against the door and his chest is rapidly rising and falling. I keep my back to the door as well and my hands are on my knees as I try to catch my breath. I look up and him and next thing I know is he's tackled me with a hug.

"Jesus Christ, Sam. You saved my life. I would have been walker bait." his unsteady, shallow breathing pushes through my hair, and there's an agonizing pain coursing through my upper body.

"Shoulder," I croak. It burns insanely and I just want to sit down and not move for the rest of forever, but we don't have that choice. Not anymore.

He releases me, and reaches down for something. At first I think it's the bag he dropped, but no, there's some spilled art supplies on the floor. He picks up a piece of yellow chalk on the floor. He writes in messy, boy-like handwriting, on the door. It reads

_Dead inside_

_Walker got my shoe_

_Didn't get me. _

I smirk, _Oh Carl. _

"Better?" I lift a teasing eyebrow at him, he nods.

"Then let's head downstairs and finish this place off," I nod towards the stairs, and he nods, still a little out of breath. He grabs the bag and we walk downstairs, back to the kitchen.

I'm cleaning out one cabinet which is filled with canned goods and powdered milk, and Carl cleans out one on the other side of the kitchen. I look around and then something catches my eyes at the top of the cabinets.

"Carl," I nod up at object. He looks up and his eyes grow huge.  
He finds a stool and stands on top of it, then he steps onto the counter itself. He's about nose level with the object now. He reaches and grabs the object with relative ease. I step towards him, ready to steady him if he loses his balance.

"Got it?" I ask. He crouches down and then steps back onto the stool, and onto the ground. There it is. Chocolate pudding.

"Yup. 112 ounces," he's grinning like a fool.

"That's seven pounds," I marvel at the beast that Carl holds.

"You don't think we could eat it?" he challenges

I scoff, "Oh, I _know_ we could eat it."

"Then why don't we?" he suggests

"Where?" I look around, almost all the surfaces in the house are covered in crap. I mean, we could take it back to the house, but that wouldn't feel right.

Carl narrows his eyes, his expression twisting, thinking for a moment, "On the roof,"

"What?" I look at him like he's crazy.

"You heard me," he lifts a devil-may-care brow, "Beautiful view. He comments, "Perfect place to rest, also the perfect place for a first date."


	20. Little Things

They say in life you have to stop and smell the roses. Appreciate the little things you have, you know? Or else they may ripped from your hands at an age too young and now you walk with the dead. Sometimes I miss the little things. There just aren't enough anymore.

I couldn't have heard him right. There's just no way.

"Excuse me?" I look at him, my eyes wide with disbelief.

He gives me a look that clearly reads '_you heard me_.' His cheeks are flushed, but he still has a smirk on his face. He hands me two spoons and then grabs my empty hand. The can of pudding rests in the crook of his other arm. We head back upstairs, I see the glint of my knife's blade on the ground at the top of the stairs and pick it up, sliding it back into its holder where it belongs. We go into the first room and climb onto the roof through one of the windows. The layout is simple enough so that crawling out the window puts you on the roof. Carl goes first and then I crawl through. His feet are dangling over the edge. One foot has only a dark blue sock. We'll have to find him another one soon.  
I sit next to him so that my legs dangle over the edge too, and my right shoulder is pressed against his left. He scoots a little closer so that his hip is touching mine and I swear there is an agitated swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

I offer him my knife and he cracks open the pudding can. I hand him one of the spoons and he trades me for my knife. I slide the knife back into its holster and make sure it's secure.

"Are dates even a thing anymore?" I look at him curiously after a while. It's been maybe a half hour and we've made a pretty good dent on this can of pudding. Holy crap, I forgot how good chocolate pudding was.

"Well, I'm here, your here. We're eating at a location, enjoying each others company. I'd say that pretty much defines a date," Carl cocks an eyebrow at me. I roll my eyes, _watch it there, you're getting a little big for your britches, sheriff._

"I don't recall ever being asked out," I tease him, nudging his shoulder with mine.

He looks over at me, "You came didn't you?" I just smirk and roll my eyes.

"Was I gonna say no?" I point out. I didn't exactly have that option. Even if I did, I wouldn't have.

He shrugs, "Fair enough,"

This would all be much more romantic, what with the slowly setting sun and the odd, yet welcome serenity that claimed the dead neighborhood. Well dead except for us. It was almost like we brought light to the old place, our presence bringing warmth and hope to a place that might've forgotten. However, there was one issue. The growling walker stretching its gray fleshed, reanimated arm out the half-opened window about 10 feet to my left behind me. It pawed hungrily for us, desperate for something it would never grasp.

I continue to dip my spoon into the can of pudding and swallow the large bites that I pull out. I feel hungry, and I want to eat more, but that sound. It makes my throat close up uneasily.

"He's killing the mood," I comment to Carl, nodding back towards the walker. I could shoot it, if I had my gun, but that son of a bitch is too unpredictable and the noise would only draw more.

"There's a mood?" Carl turns towards me with surprise. His cheeks are flushed slightly, but he's grinning, his eyes bright. Sweat's beading up on his forehead again. And my shoulder pounds with the constant reminder. _It can't be this way all the time_. Even if I want it to.

Now I'm blushing, I duck my head a little and take another bite of pudding, "Well, to a degree." I take my spoon in my left hand for a moment, and I reach my right hand and press the back against Carl's forehead. Carl gives me a look and steals my hand away.

"No, not right now. I don't wanna think about that. Not me being sick, not your shoulder. I just wanna think about... about us." he swallows nervously and his eyes stare into mine.

"Oh, uh, okay," I stutter and he doesn't let go of my hand.

"Carl," I remind him, "I need that hand to eat."

He sighs and reluctantly lets go of my hand, "Thank you," I tease, and I switch which hand the spoon is in.

It's quiet for a long time, and the sun is setting right in front of us, "Do you ever miss the little things?" he asks me, the can of pudding is three fourths gone.

"Like school and TV and internet?" I turn towards him, intrigued.

"Well yeah, but even simpler than that. The smell of a new comic book, the feeling of waking up on Christmas morning. Hearing your favorite song come on the radio?" he looks away, almost longingly. And I realize that these are all things, even if she were still alive, Judith would never know.

"Yeah," I sighed, letting myself remember the old days, "When the new book of my favorite series would come out. I miss that feeling. Reading it for the first time, knowing that there were so many other people reading the same words as I _for the first time._ And we'd all finish and feel the same rage of the cliff hanger at the end." my gaze drifts, a nostalgic grin claims my face, and it's like I'm swimming in a sea of sentimentality.

"You are such a dork," Carl laughs, and it's a real laugh, the kind I like. With a real smile, and the way his eyes shine as they look at me. Yes, I could live with this all the time.

"Oh come on!" I shove my shoulder at him playfully, "You're the one talking about that new comic book smell. And you were gawking over those video games yesterday. I'd say you're the real dork." I'm smiling real smiles now too, and my heart swells with the happiness in the air.

"You're prettier when you smile," Carl says, just like it's an observation with no real consequence behind it.

"-Er?" I lift an eyebrow

His cheeks are blazing red, "I mean you're always pretty, but..." he looks down and I blush too.

"Some pudding, eh?" I indicate to the blob of pudding on my spoon and pop it in my mouth, changing subjects, trying to release some of the tension.

"I think this is one of those little things," Carl comments. And I agree, just the taste of pudding in my mouth, the consistency, the sweetness, the pure pleasure of eating something not for survival, but because we want to.

It goes back to silence, but it's a comfortable one. By the time the first stars start to shine in the sky, the pudding can is emptied. We toss it over the edge with our spoons without another thought. I start to lean against Carl, but the undying groans behind me make me so uncomfortable that I can't stand it anymore. I stand up and walk over to the walker. He paws for my ankle, but I crush its hand under my foot. I slam the window down from the outside, and there's the sickening crunch of bones and the window's closed now. The walker's complaints muted.

I kick the detached limb aside and sit back down next to Carl. I lean my head against his shoulder like nothing has happened, and his arm finds its way around me. He doesn't set his hand on my other shoulder though, there's enough pain radiating from it to begin with. Instead his fingers curl around the side of my ribs, and pull me closer to him. I can't help but notice his elevated heart rate that pounds against my ear, and way his fingers are slightly trembling.

Of course, I'm not free of this anxiety, as I really can't control the fact that my own heartbeat is so loud I know he can hear it. Not to mention the butterfly World War III going on in my gut.

He doesn't say anything and I don't either, I don't want to ruin _this_. Whatever _this_ is. The sky gets darker and then I spot a shooting star. I point it out to Carl, and then he spots another one. Then we both see another, and another, and another. They begin to rain down, little streaks in the sky.

"It's a meteor shower," I realize with astonishment. Even though our world has crumbled, nature continues to go on, like it always has. Without much discussion, we both scoot up so our legs no longer dangle off the roof and we lie back, my head still on Carl's shoulder and his arm is still around me protectively. He takes off his hat and sets it on his other side. I let out a comfortable sigh and we just watch the stars fall. Only they aren't really stars, they just look that way.

Crickets chirp and cicadas sing their one note tune. The cool night breeze blows lightly through the trees and onto my exposed forearms and through my hair, Carl's body radiates warmth next to me, so I'm not cold. It reminds me all of my place back at the prison, and suddenly I long for it. I remember that night that Carl followed me and how I nearly fell off the stupid platform. My shoulders lift at my slight laugh at the memory. Carl casts me a curious look, silently asking what's so funny. I tell him and he nods, smiling, remembering as I do. My belly is full and I am content, for the first time in what feels like forever.

"I'd say this was a pretty good first date," Carl speaks for the first time in a long time, and his voice is pleasant to my ears.

"I would not disagree," which is an understatement. My eyes are getting heavy, and I know that I'm going to fall asleep soon. I don't want _this_to end though.

"Am I gonna have to carry you back to that house?" Carl turns towards me.

"You will do no such thing." I strictly tell him. I know that fever is back up, our time out of the real world is running out. My shoulder throbs as a constant reminder.

"Well, we need to head back," he sighs. He knows too, we can't stay in this little bubble of joy and falseness forever.

"Alright," I sigh, and I sit up, he follows and I crawl over to the window we left open. I squeeze through and when I stand on the ground again, I wait for Carl. He lacks grace even more so than I do. He kind of tumbles to the ground and his hat falls off. _That silly boy_. I pick it up for him and dust it off. He stands up and I give a little smirk as I place it back on his head. I pat it down firmly in hopes that it'll stay.

We head downstairs and pick up our bag and my gun. Then we head out the door, our fingers are interlaced as we walk down the lonely street. The moonlight guides us home, and our heads turn warily about, waiting for any walkers that might sneak up on us.

We get back to the house we're staying in safely and we go in through the back door. Carl locks the door behind us and then we head back upstairs. We go into the room we're staying in and I walk towards the pile on the ground composed of meds and my clothes. We empty out our haul and then I start to measure out the medications Carl needs. I do tone it down some, only half what I'd normally give. And I don't even pour the Delsym because he hasn't coughed in a while. He takes the medication without complaint, he knows his fever's back up. Then he tells me to take off the flannel shirt, so I do. I work my arm out of the loose t-shirt sleeve, which hurts like a bitch. Then Carl unwraps the bandaging and his teeth grit as he looks at the wound, even in the dim moonlight he can tell. It's red and swollen, infected. He cleans up the wound with more pieces of his torn up shirt soaked in rubbing alcohol, trying to get rid of anything that could help incite the infection more. When he's satisfied, he re-wraps the wound, he helps me get my shirt back on and then stands. He helps me to my feet and decide I'm too tired to change much besides kicking off my shoes. I do that much and he takes my hand again

We head towards the bed we're sharing when Carl stops me. I turn to him confused at first, then he leans close and kisses my cheek. Just slightly, and I'm so flustered I'm unsure what to do. Then he continues walking like nothing happened. I think I'm just smiling, because I can't help but do anything else. I scoot over to my far side of the bed and throw my beanie into the other room, it's not fun to try and untangle that thing from my hair. Carl sets his hat down beside the bed and I look up at the ceiling, feeling my body begin to drift from consciousness.

_This_ is probably one of the most normal things that I've done in a long time. In terms of things that might actually happen if the world hadn't gone to shit. It's the little things that count. Definitely the little things.


	21. On Your Own

They you gotta stick together in this world, more people means more power. I think that's partially true, you do need others sometimes. It's easier to take on a horde of walkers with a pack of people rather than on your own. But there are some things that you have to do on your own. Then there's also other things, you don't have a choice, you do them on your own because you have to. The other options, aren't so sunny...

I wake up the next morning with Carl shaking my good shoulder. I was sleeping well, no nightmares, which I regard as a surprise.

He stands by the bed, hat on and Beretta strapped to his thigh. There's a canvas bag over his shoulder, "You need one more day to recoup, no going out today. Just rest, I'm gonna out on my own to finish clearing what I can. I'll be back by noon. I promise."

"Carl-" I begin to protest

"There's nothing you're going to do to stop me. We have to leave tomorrow. We can't stay here forever, and I want you to recover today so we can move tomorrow. I'll be fine, I've taken aspirin and a couple of those other meds." He insists. His eyes aren't dim, they're sharp, stubborn even. But there's something else, something hidden in those eyes and his tone that I can't quite place.

"Take my gun at least. Yours only holds 6 bullets. Just in case, ya know..." I trail off, I swallow hard. I can't bring myself to say what I think. I don't like it. Him going out alone. But he has fair points, I do need to recuperate, and we can't stay here forever. My chest feels heavy, and I can't help but think how horribly wrong things could go.

"Ok, but be a good girl while I'm gone, alright?" he teases, poking my stomach. I curl up a little with the jerk reaction. I just glare at him for a moment, and then he gives my hand a final squeeze before he turns and goes.

I decide to get up and eat, because food will help me recover. I walk slow this morning, my body still heavy with sleep. I hope Carl has cleared the house, because my stumbling probably sounds like a walker's. I sit down next to our pile of supplies and I open up a can of peas, constructing a spoon out of the lid. The peas go down slowly, though I haven't got much anything to watch like I normally would. I drink from one of the water bottles that we've been working on for a while. I just study the room for maybe the hundredth time, it's strange how it fascinated I am with this place.

My eyes are already heavy, which I think is stupid, because I haven't been awake but half an hour or so. Little light streams through the window today, clouds make the sky gray and depressing. Even with the clouds I can tell it is early morning still. I used to always be up by this time, but now.

_Stop Sam, you can't be angry at yourself like this. It's literally pointless. One day away from the action won't kill you._

I don't know what compels me to do it, but I get up again and I wander the upstairs until I find a room with a bed and there's a book on the nightstand. I sit down on the bed, resting the water bottle on the nightstand and I pick up the book. _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_. Hm, can't say I've read this one since it all went down. I lean back on the bed, stretching my legs out, my head presses up against the head rest. I open the book and begin to read, it's good but my eyelids are only getting heavier. My blinks get longer and longer until they don't open again and I'm lost to sleep.

I wake up when I hear something very wrong, voices. As in not one, but multiple. And none of them sound like Carl, none of them sound like any I know.

_Shit. _

As quickly and quietly as I can, I sneak-run back to the room where Carl and I have been staying, I shove all the things into the pack that lies next to it. I throw my jacket on so there's room in the bag. I grab my Docs, I'll have time to lace them later. My beanie lies a couple feet in front of me, I ram it into my back pocket. Once last look, I run the checklist in my mind at a thousand miles an hour. _Meds, check. Food, check. Clothes, check. Books, I remember sliding those in with the meds. Yes, that should be everything._ I make it back to the hallway, and I'm nearly to the room I fell asleep in. I left that damned water bottle there. I slide in socked feet into the room and grab the bottle. Then I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. _Son of a bitch._ I instinctively drop down and slide-crawl under the bed. The action makes my shoulder scream and I bite my lip hard so I don't make any noises.

The footsteps arrive at the top of the stairs accompanied by a pair of boots. I can see them from here. My heart beats furiously in my throat. The boots walk down the hallway, checking out the other rooms first. I stay stark still, I wrap my arms around the pack in front of me, direly hoping not to be spotted. I wiggle backwards so my socked feet touch the wall. My boots sit right of me and the water bottle at my left. I press my mouth against the pack, trying to relieve the pressure building internally.

The boots are back. They seem to walk towards the room in slow motion. I ceased to breathe entirely, my eyes are wide, and my lip is bleeding, yet I still bite down. Oh dear God, I could stretch my arm out right now and touch the boots if I wanted. I have to close my eyes and pray in my mind. I see the long barrel of the gun that Boots must be holding. Horrifying thoughts come to mind, and I am trembling uncontrollably all over now.

Boots walks around the bed, seeming as though he wants to torture me, scare me into coming out. _He doesn't know you're here_, I tell myself, _he doesn't know you're here_. Boots walks a couple steps away, kicking back an article of clothing and opens the closet door. Thank God I didn't hide in there.

Next he walks over to a dresser at my left, I dare not turn my head, in fear that'll he'll hear the sound of my head moving against the fabric of the bag. I look out of the corners of my eyes, and my chest is heaving now, begging for air. But I can't, I'm too scared. Then I let out a faint gasp, my body giving out to its own demands. I wince heavily, and Boots start to walk towards me. He stands at the very foot of the bed, I can see the blood spattered on his shoe. _Stop breathing._ I demand myself. _You cannot breathe. This will not end well. _

I am shaking violently now, tremors controlling my arms and legs. Boots walks to the side of the bed and pauses for a moment. _I am dead. I am dead. I am __**so**__ dead_. And then he throws himself on the bed. The mattress caves, and it slams into my shoulder. I physically bite the pack now, tears forming in my eyes. _Don't, just don't._ I squint my eyes shut, trying not to think of everything at once.

Time ticks by and I start to breathe again, but it's unsteady and flutters against the bag. After an unmeasurable amount of time, it could be minutes, it could be days, I hear snoring. And my muscles slacken some. My breath becomes more even and less shaky.

_I have to get out of here_. My luck won't last forever. I grab one boot and turn down towards my foot. I'm careful not to arch my back so I don't hit the bottom of the mattress. I stretch my foot towards my hand and get my foot in the boot. I bend my knee in towards my chest and tie the laces. Alright, one down. Now the hard part. Using my left arm to get the other boot on. I bite hard on my tongue. I grab my left boot and stretch my foot up towards my leg, my arm reaches down and my shoulder screams in protest. My breathing becomes labored. I'm trembling again, terrified I'm making too much noise. Finally, I manage to hook my foot into the boot and lace it up with fumbling fingers. I start to scoot out from under the bed, comforted by the constant snores. Then I freeze. Footsteps on the stairs.

_Shit._

I quickly slide back to my original position, squeezing my bag tightly. The person making the footsteps emerge at the top of the stairs. "Hey, find any sign of him?" They ask presumably to Boots, walking towards me and I'm paralyzed again.

_Him_? I'm intrigued at this mysterious _him._ _Could it be one of our people? Could it be Carl? Goddammit, why did I let him go out on his own._

Boots doesn't reply, so the other guy speaks up, "Yo! Comfy?"

The snoring stops and Boots stirs, "You're waking me up to see if I'm comfy?" He growls. My back tenses nervously

"Maybe I wanna lay down," the other guy threatens.

"There's 2 other beds," Boots snaps

"Them's kids beds," the other guy explains, "I want this one." this he walks over to the side of the bed. I feel Boots sit up.

"It's claimed," I can practically hear the scowl in Boots' expression. _Ladies, ladies, you're both pretty, now let's hear about this __**him**__, eh?_

"I didn't hear it," the other guy retorts, "you're gonna have to lay claim somewhere else."

Boots stands up and the bed creaks into its original position. There's some shuffling and then they're fighting. There's lots of grunts and sounds of fists hitting flesh fills the air. Next thing I know one of them goes to the ground. I think it's Boots. He has dark skin and a black bandanna around his closely shaved head. There's a sickening thump when Boots tries to get up, but the other guy forces him down. A hand clamps around Boot's throat and all I can do is watch. Boots struggles, reaching his hands up at the other guy, but the other guy punches him in the face so that Boots' head is turned towards me. His eyes widen when they see me. My eyes widen at the sight of him, hoping that he can't and won't talk. The other guy wraps his arm around Boots' neck in a choke hold and I watch Boots' eyes turn almost desperate as they stare into mine.

I watch the light in his eyes fade, until they close and Boots stop his struggling. I swallow hard.

"My bed now, jack-off," the other guy snorts and he jumps onto the bed. The frames bends and pushes against my back. I wince and bite my tongue some more. Blood poisons my mouth, filling it with the bitter taste of salt and iron.

The other guy kicks one foot over the side of the bed and lets out a sigh. He's unconscious in 5 minutes flat._ Ok, time for Round 2 of Mission Escapé._ There's still talking going on downstairs and I vaguely hear the sound of footsteps but I cannot discern their location. Slowly, one inch at a time, I slide over towards the edge of the bed. My head pokes out from under the bed when his snoring stammers for a moment and I freeze, it picks up again a second later and I exhale with relief. I wiggle a little more, pull my bag and the water bottle out and I stand. I look at the other guy on the bed, he's out cold. He's got thick stubble covering his pale face and dark hair.

"Tony, Len, get your asses down here." A voice calls from downstairs. Well, shit. I quickly creep out of the room and down the hall. _Ok, obviously the stairs are not an option, so how am I gonna get outta here? _There's a man on the staircase, his back is to me. His steps are slow and make my chest heavy with dread.

"Yo, you hear me?" the voice calls again. I now know the voice belongs to the man on the stairs.

My eyes dart to the left and I sneak into the room Carl and I were staying in. I press my back against the wall of the little room that had the bed.

I hug the bag to my chest. _Breathe Sam, breathe_. He's in the room now, I stare fearfully straight ahead at the wall in front of me. It's inches from my nose. Just praying he doesn't look in here. I can hear him picking through things. He walks to the doorway, I'm staring at his hand now. He holds a tennis ball. Don't step any further, don't step any further. I make myself as flat against the wall as possible. He throws the tennis ball against the wall with the window. It bounces back, and he catches the ball. He does this a couple more times before losing interest. I hear him bounce the ball against the wooden floor as his footsteps get quieter. I can breathe again.

I rest my forehead against the wall for a moment before throwing the pack onto my back. I peek out the doorway, he's gone. I take off the pack and stuff the water bottle in there before zipping it back up and slinging onto my good shoulder. I free my knife from its holder and clench it firmly in my hands. I nervously moisten my dry lips and short, nervous breaths push from them.

I try to open the windows in the little room, but they don't open. _Goddammit_.

"Claim, claim, claim!" shouts the man that was in here a few minutes ago. He must have found his friend with Boots dead on the floor, "Shut the hell up."

I go into the main room, keeping a constant eye out for people moving in the hallways.

"I'm trying to sleep!" the other guy complains.

Another voice calls as I push myself against the wall that is next to the main doorway, "There's a woman shacking up in here!"

"Say what?" the other guy calls

"Come on down!" the first one shouts

"She hot?" the other guy asks

_Oh dear God, what have they found? What did I leave. Please don't tell me I did something stupid and left my bra in the bathroom or something of equivalent idiocy. _

"Don't grab your pecker yet, she ain't here. It's just a shirt. But she may be with him." there's that _him_ again. _Who's the __**him**__?! I need to know._

"What are the odds?" the man with the tennis ball yells, he and the other guy head down the stairs, oblivious to my presence, "It could be any old woman, may be on her own."

"Any old woman would do," the other guy comments. My gut churns, these men are terrible. If found, I'd suffer a fate worse than death.

"There's more than one person that was here with her though, it's the best lead we've had in a bit." the one who found the shirt says.

I have to leave. Now.

I sneak out of the room on light feet, I look into the room where the other guy and the man with the tennis ball left, Boots still lies on the floor. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"She'll be back," the shirt finder tells them, "And I'll place bets she's with him. Bring him right to us, get the job done nice and quick. Make him pay for killin' our own."

Ok, so _him_ is_ not_ Carl. They would've already had found him and done who knows what...

"Hold on," calls the other guy, "let me get my gun." he runs up the stairs and I run into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I turn around, there's a man on the toilet. His eyes grow wide with shock at the sight of me. On instinct, I jab the butt of my knife into his gut. This pushes him back and he launches himself at me.

He pushes me into the bathroom counter and I struggle for a pair of scissors on the counter. I thrust my elbow back and grab the scissors while he's hunched over. I open the scissors and pull against his throat. He pushes backwards and we smack against the bathroom wall. He thrashes around and grabs his hands at me. I pull harder._ I won't kill him, I won't kill him. I can't kill him. Just get 'em unconscious_.

Then he reaches up, grabbing my chest and squeezes.

Now all bets are off. I yank harder and gurgling noises erupt from his mouth. He's choking, I pull tighter, he's still struggling, but the available oxygen to his body is shrinking, so his fight is more manageable. His face turns purple and soon the struggling stops and his dead body collapses to the floor.

I am a killer. _This is what I get when I work on my own._

I grab the gun that he foolishly left next to the toilet. I look at the corpse one more time. He's gonna come back. A voice in the back of my head warns me. _Good, maybe he'll take out a couple more of these sickos_.

I sling the gun over my shoulder and it bounces against the pack when I walk. The window here slides up with ease, and I'm thankful, my body is still trembling from my last kill. I'm not sure if I could take them all out even if they didn't attack me first.

There's an overhang out the window and I toss the pack and the gun out, then I crawl through and I re-situate my things on my back. I crouch walk with soft feet across the roof the ledge. I lay down and work my body slowly over the edge until I'm only clinging with my fingertips. My shoulder screams and tears start to form in my eyes, I drop down with a loud thump. I get to my feet and press my back against the wood side paneling, I squat down and swing the gun off my back. Waiting in suspense. Nothing.

I'm on the back porch now. I creep down the deck stairs and around the side of the house, pausing and aiming at any noise my ears pick up. The side door opens, I pause, pressing my back up against the brick of the side deck. I clench my teeth as I hear the sound of a tennis ball bouncing. I stretch up, just peeking enough to see the deck itself. Footsteps move towards me. I duck back down. The air in my throat goes dead. I hold the gun up, ready to shoot if necessary. Tennis ball bouncer bends over the other side of the railing and spits, about 5 feet in front of me. My the luck I'm having today.

The man sits on the railing and kicks one foot up, he has a can of something and drinks from it. I don't believe it's one of ours though, so that makes me a little less stressed. He whistles at some birds, and I hear him take another bite of whatever is in the can.

I look past the brick and in the distance I see him. Carl. He's walking here unsuspectingly, I have to hope this guy doesn't see him too.

I can't let him see Carl. _He's mine._

I stretch my hand up, I'm gonna have to shoot him. _It's the only way_. I start to stand and there's a ruckus in the house. I guess my first kill has come back already. Shots go off. The man stands and goes inside. _Thank goodness_, I let out a sigh of relief.

I first crouch-run from the house and then I screw it and full blown run for Carl as fast as I can, ignoring the searing agony in my shoulder.

"Go!" I hiss at him once he's close enough to me. His eyes are wide and he doesn't question it as we run off in the opposite direction.

We stop running once we're a mile from the neighborhood.

"What the hell was that?" Carl pants, we can only stop for a moment.

"Men," I explain through shallow breaths, "I was asleep and they came into the house."

Carl's eyes widen and new concern fills his expression, his hand rests carefully on my arm, "Did they-"

"I'm fine," I tell him, _I killed the one guy that tried._

"How'd you get out of there? I mean certainly one must have seen you." Carl gawks at me in disbelief. I nod reluctantly. I open my mouth to say something and then shut it. I swallow, I can't tell him. _He can't know that I'm a murderer._ What would he think? _He is too._ I remind myself. _No, no. I just can't._

"Sam," he looks at me dead in the eyes, his hands find mine and he interlaces his fingers with my own, "you don't have to handle this on your own."


	22. Coming Clean

You just have to come clean sometimes. There's no other way. You can't sugar coat it. It just has to come out. Only after can you clean up the mess you've made.

"I killed him," I blurt out, I can't hold it back any longer. My heart plummets and I stare hopelessly at Carl.

"Him?" Carl inclines his head towards me.

"There was a guy." I stammer, stepping back slightly, my hands slip out of Carl's, "In the house, he... he saw me... and then shit went down, I had to kill him Carl. There wasn't another way." I'm choking on my own air now. "I had to." _What have I done? What. Have. I. Done_.

Carl looks at me for a long time._ I didn't hate you!_ I scream silently at him,_ I could've rejected you and hated you for killing, but I didn't! I accepted it. It was a part of you, it couldn't be changed. Please don't hate me. Please don't._ "I get it." he nods, "You did what you had to do to survive. We all do at some point. Did... did he deserve it?"

"Yeah," it comes out as a growl, not intentionally, and Carl gives me a look of surprise, I shake my head, "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't have to." my tone is fragile now, exposing the fear within me.

"I know. You aren't a killer Sam. You're a survivor, there's a difference." Carl's eyes stare deeply into mine, and he steps towards me and grabs my hand again, "Now we gotta go. In case those guys try to come after us. And we'll have to find cover soon." he looks to the sky, and it's blackening with storm clouds, heavy with rain that's soon to spill.

So we walk, hand in hand. Carl offers to take the pack from my back, I'm starting to feel weak again, and my shoulder throbs painfully. I set my jaw and look at him. I press the back of my hand against his forehead, he's normal. I reluctantly agree. He stops for a moment to empty the contents of his bag into the one with the rest of our stuff. He slings it over one shoulder and we continue on.

We make it out to a road after a few hours. It's lined with heavy rows of trees that tower above us on both sides. Rain starts at a slow, warm pitter patter that hits the top of my head in fat, slow drops. Then it picks up. I grab my beanie from my back pocket and slide it onto my head. It picks up by the minute until I'm soaked all the way through. I begin to shiver when a northern breeze blows through. Carl's expression is tight as he casts me worried glances.

We walk on for a few hours more, with nowhere better to be, I am literally soaked to the bone with rain. Then I see it, there's a dirt road that diverges from the main road up ahead, Carl nods towards it and we begin to jog that way. Once we're on the dirt road, most of the rain doesn't get through the trees and its constant rhythm beats against the leaves above instead.

The dirt road goes for a while and the sky is getting dimmer quickly. Finally we see a fenced area. Beyond the fencing is a clearing, the rain pours freely there. Its fencing is just standard chain link, but we see a small building past it. That'll do. That'll do just fine. I'm starting to get sluggish, exhaustion and pain overcoming my senses and blurring my mind. I need to sit down, I'm gonna drop if we go much longer.

"Looks like an ok place to try for," Carl comments

I release a tired sigh, "Why the hell not?"

The closer we walk, the more we realize that there's more to this place. In the distance, there are large blobs; the rain streams down too quickly and densely that I can't make out what they are past that. We arrive at the fence and we don't see a single walker.

"We could climb it?" I suggest meekly. It's not too tall; neither of us are very heavy, it shouldn't be an issue.

"Can you?" Carl looks at my shoulder.

"I'll be fine," I insist.

He gives me a tired look and grits his teeth, "Sam."

"I'll be fine," I repeat. Carl shakes his head, caving. He's starts to climb, his fingers grasp the chain link and he pushes himself off the ground and climbs. I notice he's found another shoe to replace the one the walker stole. He gets to the top and slings his legs over to the other side. Then he lets go and jumps to the ground. He lands on his feet and he nods at me to climb.

I grit my teeth and try to mainly use my feet and right arm to climb. It's not too hard, but my foot slips once and I instinctively grab tighter with my left arm, and I cringe as my shoulder pulses with fresh pain.

"You ok?" Carl asks with genuine concern.

I nod, "Yup," I mumble under my breath, "just great."

I haul myself over the other side of the fence and drop. I land on my feet with bent knees next to Carl. I stand up and I can tell he's not convinced of my ok-ness.

"Do you need-"

"I'm fine," I interrupt him, my voice is harsh and brittle even though I know he's only being nice, "You've done enough, really you have." I try to use a more soothing tone. _He can't know how bad I am. He just can't._

We walk to the small building. It's made of worn brown brick with a flat metal roof. It only stands about eight feet tall and doesn't take up too much square footage. The rain pounds against our soaked bodies and Carl starts to run for the building and I follow him. I look around warily, walkers could be anywhere. But they aren't here, and it's strange. Which makes me raise my guard even more.

The door to the building has a rusted padlock on it. It's not even really locked, it's sealed by the rust formed around the ends. "Shit," Carl mutters under his breath. He slams the butt of the semi-automatic into the padlock. I lean against the side of the building, my legs are shaky and my breathing is labored. He smashes into again and again until the padlock falls open. _Bingo._

Carl works the padlock off and throws it to the ground. He quickly yanks the door open with a pointed gun. He surveys the area, and when he sees no walkers, he nods at me to come in. I hold my gun up, prepared to shoot anything I don't like. The floor is cheap linoleum and has a faded pattern that looks like it was white and white checkered squares at one point, but now bleeds together from time. The building is one square room, with a little door one 3 of the sides of the room, leading off to other smaller rooms. One little door leading to what appears to be a closet area. There's 2 windows on the northern wall, the one wall without a door, that are covered in dust and dirt, preventing any real view of the outside world. It also prevents much of the natural lighting that would be otherwise let in. I have to squint to see more than just an outline of Carl. I shut the door behind me, and Carl's already headed to the smaller room so I just stand guard, feeling too weak to do anything else. He left the bag on the floor, probably to keep it out of his way. I keep a constant eye on the other two doors, one is open, one isn't. Ever since the pudding house, I've been cautious with closed doors.

Carl kicks the small door open and steps back. Nothing comes out, he peeks his head into the room and I hold my breath, "Clear!" he calls and I walk towards him.

"Find anything?" I ask, I have to speak up because rain pounds loudly against the roof.

"Yeah, a bunch of stuff actually. Lots of canned goods. There's also a generator, and a water pipe. Maybe there's running water," he says the last part with a yearning tone, running water was a luxury back at the prison, and I find myself with the same sense of longing pulling at my gut.

I shrug at the possibility, "There are two other doors."

"Did you wanna check one out?" he testing me, to see if I'm too weak to pull my own weight.

"Yeah, I guess I just wanted to see what was here first," I lie. I walk over to the closed door, gun at the ready. I turn the knob and push it open warily. My muscles are rigid, prepared to kill anything that dare attack me.

Nothing. All that work up for nothing.

I confirm that there really is nothing and there isn't some weakened walker hiding behind some obscure object ready to eat my face, and then I clear the room of its goods. It's a small room; the space between the walls is small, maybe 7 feet. The room is long though, as long as the entire building. Pushed in the very back is a bed. One wall has two or three filing cabinets, and there's a pile of books shoved against the other wall. There's papers scattered and piled on the floor everywhere. If I look past the door, there's a desk, with more papers and an old desk chair.

There's something very wrong with this place though. I can't see it, I just sense it. There's a thick layer of dust that covers everything, from the books, to the bed, to the floor, to the walls. I don't think this place has been touched since before the apocalypse began. That must be why there isn't a walker locked up in here.

"Hey Sam!" Carl calls from outside the room, I walk out and don't see him in the main room, instead I see him leaning out of the third room, waving at me, "You should see this."

I follow him into the room. It's a bathroom, with multiple showers, separated by a curtain. Carl opens up a set of cabinets that are below a sink.

"Jackpot," Carl mutters under his breath.

"What's down there?" I step forward, intrigued.

"I wonder what this place was, there's enough medical supplies here to care for several people. And the food storage, and the generator. What was in the other room?"

"It was almost like an office, but there was a bed in the corner. Books, and paper, but nothing of much use beyond that." I shrug with one shoulder. I'm trembling all over, from the rain and my shoulder is throbbing horribly.

"You look terrible," Carl grits his teeth and his bright blue eyes look over me, "you need to change and lie down. You'll catch a cold staying in those clothes like that," Carl explains, then he gives the first cough I've heard all day.

"You will too." I insist.

"You first," he pushes. I let out a sigh, "Have you checked to see if the showers work?" I ask, hey if there's a shot, might as well take it.

"No," he shakes his head, "Maybe tomorrow, but I think that rain really cleaned us both up for today," he chuckles. He slings his gun over his shoulder, and takes my hand. Carl picks up the bag and we go into the office. We go to the back of the room, where the bed is, and I work off the jacket that is less blood soaked now, but is clammy with all the absorbed water.

"Let's see it then," Carl nods to my shoulder. I take off my flannel shirt and work my arm out of the t-shirt. There's blood staining the outer most bandages. I've opened the damn thing again.

"This is because of-" he starts off, but the words catch in his throat.

"When I fought the guy, yeah," I swallow uneasily.

"Right," he unwraps the bandages. And lets out a bit of a relieved sigh. There's blood, but the wound isn't leaking puss and swollen today. He quickly cleans it up and then cleans it up with alcohol again.

"You aren't out of the woods yet," he comments, "the infection can and will come back. It'd probably look better if we didn't have that _issue _this morning." for some reason his comment irks me the wrong way, like this is my fault. I bite my tongue, fighting off a snappy comeback. _Just relax, Sam. He didn't mean it like that_.

"I'm not gonna get like... blood poisoning or anything like that, right?" my voice cracks a little. That stuff is bad, and we're just two kids on our own. If something like that were to happen, my odds... well they wouldn't be good.

Carl swallows, "You're going to be fine. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." his voice is firm with meaning and I just kind of nod. He gives me some medicine to take and then wraps up my shoulder with clean bandaging.

"If I'm gonna change, you're gonna have to leave," I tell him, pointing to the door. He rolls his eyes but obeys. He closes the door behind him and I pick out a shirt that's mostly dry from the center of the pack. I haven't seen this one yet, Carl must've found it while he was out. It's a boys shirt, even bigger than the last one. I remove the old t-shirt, slide the new one over my head, cautious of my shoulder. Then I kick off my boots, peel off my socks, and pull off my waterlogged jeans. Better. I remove my poor beanie, and squeeze out the excess water. I braid back my dripping hair that's now an ugly dark brown. I set out all my clothes out to dry and then walk over to the door, I open it, and find Carl sitting on the floor of the main room, chowing down on a can of beans.

"You gonna share that?" I ask, I walk over next to him and sit down, no worries. This freaking shirt dwarfs me, there is nothing to see here. Nope.

Carl reaches next to him and hands me a can of corn, "Eat up," he tells me through a mouthful of navy beans.

"Aren't you delightful," I snort, rolling my eyes. I crack open the can with my knife that's still in its holder around my waist, because you just never know when a knife will come in handy. I use the lid as a spoon and I watch Carl hungrily put down the beans. Water is dripping off the brim of his sheriff hat, and his shirt is plastered against his skin, "Shouldn't you change?" I suggest lightly.

He half-glares at me as he puts down another bite, "Later," he mumbles. I give him a tired expression, I sit up on my knees and remove the sheriff hat from his head, and his hair is clumped together with moisture. I ruffle his hair with my hand and smirk at its displacement, it covers Carl's eyes and I can tell he's displeased, but a smirk peaks through.

"Fine grumpy, get sick again." the words that come out of my mouth are a mistake and I want to take them back as soon as I say them._ I didn't mean that, I swear! _Sometimes I really ought to watch my mouth.

He swallows and puts the can down, it's empty now, "If it means that much to you, I'll be back." he sighs. He's tired too, even if he won't admit it. I stare at the dirty windows and by the time I finish my corn, Carl's back in a fresh Henley and black jeans, "Better?" he asks, gesturing at his new attire.

"Much," I stand up, I give him a playful smirk and pat him on the shoulder, "Now come on, we have a story to finish if the book isn't completely ruined." I take his hand and we go into the office. I fish through the bag until I find Peter Pan in better than expected condition. I sit on the bed and lean against the wall. There's a dusty blanket and a couple pillows on the bed. I kick the blanket up with my feet and pull it onto my legs. I open up the book and the words on the pages are slightly blurred, but still legible. Carl lays down on the bed next to me and rests his head against my hip. He hands me a flashlight, because the little light left is fading.

I read the story until it's done and then I click off the flashlight. No need to waste battery. I slide down and lie next him. We just sit there in the darkness for a while. And then a question weighing on my mind spills out.

"Do you ever, feel regret for killing or... or anything really." I stutter and my words come out uneven and scared.

"Yeah, all the time. Not a day goes by I don't think about it and the effect it had on my life." Carl admits.

Things are just spilling out now, and I feel the need to let them out, "Do you remember back at the prison when you asked if I had anything else to tell you?"

"And you said no?" he turns his head towards me, and I turn towards him. His proximity makes my insides turn nervously. We're nearly nose to nose now.

"Well, I did... I do..." I trail off, my voice catching. Can I do this? Can I throw myself out there like this?

"I assumed by the way you brought it back up," I can tell he's joking, but at the same time uses serious elements.

"I saw Patrick, that night. He came to me, said he was sorry about my dad." I start to ramble, and I can't stop. "I told him he looked awful, because he did. I didn't know it was that bad though, I... I swear. I could've stopped it. I should've told someone. If I had, Patrick might still be alive, all those others. They might've lived. If I wasn't so selfish..." I sit up and move away from Carl. I can't stand his closeness now, it makes me feel wrong and vile. I wrap my arms around my knees which are pulled tightly to my chest. I've done it. I've come clean. Now what will I have to repair now that I've let it all out?


	23. Seeing is Believing

The saying is so old I bet it's in some hieroglyphic, Neanderthal cave drawing somewhere. Seeing is believing. You see it, you believe it. Because you can twist words left and right, but you can't twist what you see. It's the facts. Your eyes do not betray you. It's like if someone says there's a walker behind you, you don't believe until you turn around and see that it's lunging to munch on some fresh meat.

"Please don't hate me," the words are so quiet and broken they can't possibly be mine. It's been silent for about five minutes now, but it feels like an eternity.

Carl shakes his head, like he was in a trance and he's just come out of it.

He's just quiet.

I turn away from him and lie down. I've done it, dashed any hopes of us maintaining a positive relationship.

"I don't hate you." He finally speaks and it's like he really doesn't know what to say. _What can he say?_

More silence, I don't turn around, his words are probably empty.

"Sam," Carl clears his throat, but not in the coughing way, "you shouldn't feel blame for that. It... it wasn't your fault. If you hadn't been there, he'd have died anyway. Your presence didn't affect that. By the time you saw him... he was... he was too far gone."

"He was sick!" I protest, "You were too! Yet here you are, alive and well. You don't look like death. That's what he looked like. When I saw him, he was a dead man walking, Carl. I saw it. It was real. Don't you think I could've done something? Anything?" I'm sitting now, but I'm violently trembling. Carl is sitting up too. And his hand rests gently on my upper arm.

"Don't do this Sam," he shakes his head, "It's done, ok? He's gone- Patrick is gone. They're all gone. Even if you had prevented it, it wouldn't have mattered. Those people, if they hadn't been eaten by walkers, they'd have been slaughtered by the Governor in the attack. They'd still be dead, like everyone else. No matter what you had done then, I can almost guarantee we'd be here feeling the same now. So don't feel bad. There's no point, it's energy wasted. We have to focus on more important stuff. Like you getting better." he pauses and his eyes are sharp and determined, his stubbornness coming out. "The more you stress that shoulder, the longer it's gonna take to heal. These things, they don't just heal up in a few days ya know." he probably knows that first hand. I think about that scar on his chest. I've heard stories, but I've never heard straight from the horse's mouth.

"How did it happen? Your gunshot scar, I mean." I'm feeling more comfortable now. Like some of the anxiety is relieved, his words make sense and thus I don't feel so much pressure holding me down. _He doesn't hate me, he won't hate me. It's all ok_. With my new sense of reassurance, and maybe even confidence, I poke him approximately where I remember the scar to be. He gives me a 'did you really just do that' look with a smirk. and he pokes me in the diaphragm. I bend in the middle, jerk reactions taking over. _Stop, I'm ticklish! _I bat his hand away.

"But seriously though," I can feel my eyelids drooping, the long fought exhaustion is finally winning. I wanna know though. _Fight it Sam, just a little longer_. So I do.

He looks at me and then he bites the inside of his lip, "You've seen it, right? You good on visuals?" he asks

_I could always use a visual. Visuals are good,_ "Yeah, I'm fine." I nod.

He nods back, he takes a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for this story, "Well it was a couple years ago. My group was just out on the road then, and we were attacked by a herd of walkers. We were just kids then."

"We?" I echo, turning my head at Carl.

Carl chokes up, "I didn't start out as the only kid. There... There was another... A girl... Sophia. We were hiding under a car. She moved too early. She had to run. My dad went after her. Tried to keep her hid while he drew off the walkers." Tears are forming in his eyes and he wipes them away with his fingers and he chokes down the beginnings of a sob as he continues, "When he came back, she was gone. And we searched, hell we all searched. That's when it happened. I was out with my dad, and his friend, Shane. We spotted this deer. God, Sam, it was probably one of the prettiest things I'd ever seen. The prettiest at that point in my life. And I was fooled, I thought there was still innocence and peace in this world. I walked towards that deer. I looked at it, and it saw me. It didn't move, it just stood there, and so did I. And... and then it happened. One moment I felt nothing but joy and beauty, then I could only feel pain and blackness. I woke up a couple days later. Hershel- he saved my life." his voice catches, "That's where we met them, Hershel, Maggie, Beth. There were others too, but they're gone now. The man who shot me, who technically shot the deer, he lived there, on the farm. Hershel's farm."

_Jeez, this kid's been through a lot_. What I've had, it's just nothing. Nothing against that. I reach over and I give Carl a hug, "Thanks," I really don't know what I'm thanking him for. There are so many things that are thank-worthy. It needed to be said.

"Well," Carl clears his throat, "I think that's enough stories for tonight." I let go, and his eyes are sad. He misses her, whoever Sophia was, I wonder if this is the first time he's ever told anyone about her. It's definitely a sensitive subject. I start to scoot away, giving Carl his space, when his hand rests on my forearm. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't have to. I'm staying right here. I lie down and he lies beside me and I rest my head against his shoulder, his arms find their way around me. My heart races, but I'm too tired to give the heartbeat meaning. I shut my eyes, and Carl's breath flutters in my ear and I'm asleep in a few moments.

That night, I dream about the day I arrived in Woodbury with my family. We were whole then, and I felt happy. I had just turned 14, if I remember right. Then again, time was a difficult concept without a calendar to help keep track. It starts off just like my memory. It's daytime, and there are children, younger than Noah, who was nearly 13, a lot younger. They were the first I'd seen that young since the whole thing started. They ran around and I was excited, they looked well fed. People ate here, it wasn't the constant day to day struggle. But that wasn't right, I didn't feel that way. At least, not in real life. The children disgusted me, they were wasting energy. They shouldn't be running from each other, you only run from walkers. The kids there. They didn't know how ugly the world was. I saw it, the adults hid it from them.

That's when the dream started to divert from the path of my memory. Noah ran, to play with the other kids, only he looked a lot younger. Like the few minutes we'd been here had unraveled his age. Suddenly he was seven or eight. He's fitting right in with the other kids. Noah shouldn't run though, he really couldn't. His asthma was so bad. I yell at Noah, to come back. But when turns around, he's not my brother anymore. He's a walker. Blood drips from his mouth and he stumbles hungrily for me. Then the Governor appears, he comes with a semi-automatic. And I scream at him. _Don't shoot, not Noah, not Noah_. But he guns him down. And I scream some more, but now it's the crying kind of screaming. Then the Governor, with the crazy look in his eye, turns around and guns down my mother, who stands a few feet away from me. I reach out for her, and she screams, falling to the ground. But the Governor didn't get her brain. And she turns almost instantly, her eyes twitch open and she rises. She dives for me, and I duck out of the way. I can't do it, I can't put down my own mother. The Governor takes care of that though. He guns her for the second time, and now he's slinging bullets everywhere. Gunning everyone down, my dad goes down. Then the screaming children. I fall to my knees, not believing the sight I see. I'm trembling and tears stream down my cheeks. He's evil, he's vile, he's the devil himself. I look up at the Governor, only to find the barrel of the gun pointed at me, and then the last thing I see is the crazed one eye as my world fades to pain and blackness.

I wake up shaking violently, I'm clammy with a cold sweat, and I sit up, even though I shouldn't disturb Carl. His arms are still around me. I pull my knees up to my chest and I have my head in my hands, trying to breathe. My shoulder pounds in synchronization with my head.

There's a groan behind me and a deep, sleepy voice mutters, "Sam?"

"It's nothing," I shake my head, I move my hands from my head, I can't let him see, "Just go back to sleep." if he saw the insanity that flows through my blood and body. He'd see, and then he'd know. Because seeing is believing. 

* * *

Author's Note:

I haven't done one of these since chapter one, but here it goes...

First of all, thank you for all the reviews so far! Y'all are awesome. I love them, they motivate me to write more frequently and that means sooner updates ;) So if you like what you see, tell me! Constructive reviews with actual advice and certain things you liked about the chapter to help further progress me as an author are especially helpful and give me the motivation of two regular reviews.

Now, a lot of y'all have been reviewing and commenting, and asking, and PMing me, about Carl and Sam kissing. And all I have to say is good things come to those wait ;D  
It will happen... eventually. But the way I see it, both characters are rather shy people and I don't want to rush their relationship in the slightest.

Don't be afraid to voice your opinion on any of my decisions, especially if you think a character was acting OOC.

Thank you all again and don't forget to review!


	24. Time

We lost many treasured things when the outbreak began. Government, airplanes, fast food, refrigeration, and time. We didn't have time for time. Which I find rather ironic now. And as a result, we lost track of it. There was no more October 30th at 10:17 in the morning. It was always right now, with a rough estimate of which season. But sometimes, that was ok.

I lie back down at some point and pass out shortly after. I wake up to the constant pound of rain on the metal roof. I look over and find Carl sitting in an office chair a couple feet away from the bed. He's sitting on it so that his chin rests against the back of the chair and his legs stick out on either side of the chair. He's got something in his hand.

My voice is gravelly from sleep, and I croak out, "What's that?"

He blinks up at me in surprise, just noticing that I'm awake, I prop myself up on my elbows, he shows me the item in hand, "It's a watch, it still works too. Found it just ticking away." Now I get why he was staring. Time was something of a lost concept. Almost magical when you got to see it up close and real.

"It works?" I clear my throat, still in disbelief.

"Yeah," Carl chuckles, he scoots the chair closer to me and I sit up.

I look at the watch in hand and I hesitantly move my hand towards it, "Can-can I hold it?"

Carl nods and hands me the watch delicately, like he was scared to break it. I take it with just as much care. It's a fairly old watch with a black leather wristband and a gold case. The dial was that mother of pearl kind of iridescent and the minute and hour hands were thin and black. Sure enough, there it was, the watch was ticking away, I could even hear the little ticking of the clock.

"Keep it," Carl said.

I looked up at him and cocked my head, "Excuse me?"

"Keep it," he repeated, "you're probably better at taking care of things than I am." I meet his eyes and they're serious. He's funny, I'm a terrible person, my ability to care for anything other books is like negative infinity.

Yes. It's a thing.

"We can share it," I tell him, "it'd be selfish to keep to myself."

He nods, satisfied.

"So what's the game plan for today, sheriff?" I swing my legs over the side of the bed. If I don't point my toes down, my legs dangle slightly.

His hand pushes my legs back towards the bed, "It's raining, there's nowhere to go."

My shoulders slump slightly, "Guess it's kind of an omen, stay put. Rest. _For the __**third**__ time_." I laugh a little trying to make a joke of it.

He rolls his eyes at my joke, "I don't believe in God or any of that stuff." He admits.

I shrug indifferently, "Doesn't matter what you believe. Things happen for a reason, it's what my mom used to say anyways." I bite my tongue, even causally mentioning her still hurts, "And I guess I'm finally gonna rest. But you are too. Just in case." His illness still lurks in my mind, I almost lost him, I can't lose him for real.

"I would, except you're a bed hogger." He teases, nudging my leg with one of his socked feet.

"Am not!" I defend, a slight laugh in my voice.

"Are too," he's smiling wide now. _Please don't let anything ruin this. Just this once, let us be happy._

I throw my legs back on the bed and I grab his arm, which spins the chair around and he gets up. I scoot over, yanking him further.

"Are you trying to start something?" He laughs. And I deadpan. _Yes, I'm totally trying to get you out of those not nearly tight enough skinny jeans. I'm __**that**__ kind of girl_.

"Yes. I'm trying to start the 'Get stubborn as hell Carl Grimes to freaking sleep' movement. Pretty catchy don't cha think?"

"Needs an acronym, make it more fluid," Carl smirks, he's sitting next to me now. He scooches closer so that our knees touch when we both sit cross-legged.

My brow knits a little, thinking about that for a moment, " S. GSAHCGTFS. Yup, that rolls off the tongue quite nicely."

Carl laughs, "I like it," he smiles lazily at me.

"So just sleep? All day? That's the plan?" He confirms

"Yup," I lay back down. Even though I just woke up, my body is screaming in agreement. If this damn shoulder's gonna heal. I have to rest.

"Alrighty then," he tips the hat over his eyes, and he lies down next to me, he moves his arm so that he's silently offering me that place in between his arm and his chest. I accept. His breathing evens out quicker than mine does, and I know he needs the rest just as much as I do. I kinda hope it does rain all day, but just as I'm beginning to drift off, the pitter patter on the roof ceases and my curiosity of what's out there, in the fence area but beyond the building, gets the better of me. I open my eyes and look at Carl, to make sure he's really out. Then I slowly sit up, trying not to move the bed too much. I keep looking over at Carl, making sure he's still unconscious. I lean up on my knees and then stretch one leg over his body, trying to reach the other side of the bed. There's a couple inches in between Carl and the edge of the bed to place my foot. One foot down, I stand up and move my other leg over Carl. The whole time I stare at the brown felt of the sheriff hat, it remains unmoving. Boy, wouldn't this be the time for him to wake up, me, without pants on, standing, yet straddling him.

Now I have both legs steadying me in that little space and I lose my balance. My leg falls back and I'm scared my foot hits the ground too hard when it does. I ease my other leg off the bed and Carl still appears asleep. I let out a sigh of relief and tiptoe out of the room, picking up my knife I set down last night. Just in case. I don't want it to be that way, but in this world, you're better off safe than sorry. I close the door behind me, and then I leave the building. I turn around the corner of the building and I'm shocked at the sight I see.

Carnival rides. Like honest to goodness carnival rides. They're all set up and everything, no walkers lurk around though. This is the carnival that will never happen. Things like carnivals became unnecessary when people started to eat don't just get have to just have fun anymore. You have to survive, everything else takes a back seat.

A thought forms in my head, it's little and it's small, but it burns brightly.

I go back inside, the thought makes me giddy, and now I don't wanna sleep. But I told myself and Carl I would, so I sneak back into the room, awkwardly crawl back over still-sleeping Carl and get comfy. The giddiness subsides enough and I find myself falling back into the deep pit of unconsciousness.

I wake up before Carl does and the sun is out now, it's starting to fall over the tree line, and I feel incredibly rested. For the first time in a while my shoulder isn't screaming with pain, and my little burning thought turns into an idea.

I get off of the bed and get dressed. I'm changing into a tank top I found shoved in one of the desk drawers when I hear an awkward cough behind me. _Shit_.

"Nice back," Carl comments, and I instantly pull the shirt all the way down. I turn around to glare at Carl and also come to the horrifying realization that I am not wearing pants. Carl snorts and I glare harder, but I'm pretty sure the message doesn't get through because my cheeks are burning tomato red.

"You were supposed to be asleep," I protest

"So were you!" he defends. He's sitting up on the bed with a smug look on his face.

"Turn around!" I snap my fingers at him, he obeys and he even covers his eyes. I quickly pull on my jeans, pull on my flannel shirt, roll up the sleeves to the elbows. I lace up my Docs, slip my beanie on. I clip the knife holster around my waist. I'm ready.

"You're good," I roll my eyes and I open the door and Carl follows me out the door. We shared a can of peach preserves.

"Why are we just getting dressed and eating now?" Carl asks

My idea has become a plan.

"There, uh, there's something I want you to see," I stammer nervously.

Carl narrows his eyes at me, "And that would be?"

I stand up and take his hand, giving a little chuckle, "Oh you'll see."

"Is there time?" he looks out the window, his brow knits together at the fading sunlight.

I look at him with a mischievous glint in my eyes, "Oh, we have plenty of time."

My plan is about to be put into action, and we have all the time in the world.


	25. Infinite

A long time ago, maybe during my early days at the prison or before, I remember reading something. This something caught my eyes and made me wonder. Would I ever feel like this? This- was feeling infinite. What is that like? To feel infinite. Everything has an end, that's brutally clear in today's world. But wouldn't it be nice, for a single moment, to feel infinite.

I walk him outside and we round the corner and he stares at me in disbelief, "We are not-"

"We are," I tell him in a sing-song tone

"You're absolutely insane," he shakes his head at me, "How do you know this'll even work?" he's laughing slightly, imagining it. A smile breaks through on my face at his new found eagerness.

I shrug, "It's worth a shot, these things ran on their own generators. If no one has been here since this thing started, then they should ready to go."

I can see it in his eyes, he wants this desperately, "But turning them on, there's noise to contend with, and these things have lights. We'll attract every walker around for miles, not to mention the possibility for any other unwanted attention." He's talking about those men now, the ones that are undoubtedly wanting our heads.

I did account for this, trust me, I did. We had to leave at some point though, right? I mean tonight's just as good as any...

"Then let's get everything ready, I'm sure there's some truck or something with a tank full. We take what we need, pack the truck, have our fun, and when we're done, or the walker count gets a little too high, we split. Plus, we have the fence on our side." This may be the stupidest thing I've ever suggested, but I don't wanna waste this opportunity.

I'm internally struggling, trying to tell myself this is ok and that we won't end up dead because of my stupidity. I can see Carl's conflicted too, he wants this as badly as I do, but he also knows that things don't always go to plan.

"Alright, but we have to make sure everything is ready to go, and we have to find a usable exit, and the moment you over exert your shoulder we're done. Ok?" Carl lays out his terms and I bite my lip, nodding. The last one agitates me, and I want to protest, but he has a point.

"Good?" He confirms, I nod, "Well then come on! And I don't do anything with heights!" He jokes.

We run back inside and begin to pack everything. We put clothes and books in one bag, and fill the other with food and medical supplies. Carl finds a duffel bag, and we fill that up too with whatever we can find. Once we've stripped the place bare, Carl stops me.

His eyes go my shoulder and I let out a displeased groan, but I put down the bag I was carrying and plop onto the ground. He hands me a dosage of pain medication that I haven't been as diligent in taking as I probably should have. I take a swig out of a water bottle and swallow the pills painlessly, I slip my arm out of my flannel shirt and tank top and Carl goes to work on my shoulder.

I sit still, but watch his face out of the corner of my eye as he works. He tips his hat up with the flat of his index finger to get a better look at the wound. His eyes are at first almost dim and nervous, the further he unwraps my wound, the more his expression reflects that of dread. He bites his thin bottom lip and his eyebrows furrow, preparing for the worst. The last of the bandaging falls away and his expression melts to relief and determination. I refuse to look at the wound, trusting him to do what he has to.

He soaks a sterile cotton pad with alcohol and rubs it gingerly on the wound. It burns, but significantly less than it has previously. I still tense up and something deeper forms in Carl's bright blue eyes, something I want to place, something that I've seen before, many a time, but I'm too scared to be wrong. _Compassion?_ I dare to think.

His touch is lighter from then on, and once everything is clean to Carl's satisfaction, he uses some of the bandages we found in the cabinet to wrap my shoulder back up. He helps me work my shirt back on. He helps me to my feet and I grab my bag and he shoulders the extra two, much to my dismay. We check the building over one last time, and I grab a set of keys that are hanging by the door.

We're quick to find the vehicle the keys belong to and are eager to find it not only has a tank with at least 2 gallons of gas, but works! It's parked beside a closed gate that is on the opposite side of where we first found the place. Getaway is already set up. _Awesome_. We make sure the gate moves quickly enough, and when it does, we load down the truck.

"I just found the flaw in your plan," Carl looks over at me as we pack the pickup truck. It's a Chevy Silverado if I'm not mistaken. It's a two door, and I feel pretty badass, in a southern kind of way, slamming the doors shut.

"What?" I ask

"Have you ever driven before?" he looks at me cautiously. He walks over to my side of the truck and he lifts a concerned eyebrow as he crosses his arms.

_Oh. That._

"Nah, can't be that hard though, right?" I shrug indifferently. _Psh, I got this_.

_No you don't._

"'Cause I sure as hell haven't," he looks at me with an expression that blatantly states, 'you are mentally insane'

"I told you. I got this." I reassure him.

_No. You. Don't._

"I swear to God, Sam. I'm gonna kill you if we end up dead." he starts off serious, but he ends up laughing when I lift a 'dare you challenge me' eyebrow.

"Yes, Carl, that's extremely productive." I tease, I grab his hand, "Now let's go! I wanna ride the carousel!" I start running, pulling him behind me, but he pulls his own weight before long and I'm having to keep up with him. We run all the way to the carousel and then we check out the controls. I'm not wrong, there is a generator that takes Carl a few pulls to bring the machine to life. Then it's a matter of figuring out how we're gonna get on and start the thing.

"There's a delay switch," Carl says after studying the control board for a few minutes, "We can start it up, and it'll take some time to actually start. Go, get on, I'll be there in a second," he's giddy with excitement, his tone is lighter than usual, and it's a side of Carl I haven't seen before. I think I like it.

I find a horse that's paint is chipping from wear over time, but the saddle is a faded bright blue, my favorite color. Carl fires the ride up, and light's turn on, and the machine creaks as it starts to move. My heart is up in my throat, the noise makes me anxious, but then Carl jumps on the platform that's just beginning to spin and he jumps on the horse next to me. He's seated just as the ride picks up and my heart soars with the movement. The horse creaks up and down, and Carl's next to me and he's smiling like a little kid.

"Looks like the sheriff found himself a horse," I tease over the noise. It's quite possibly the girliest horse there was. The horse itself is a faded pink and there's painted bows on the horse's lavender saddle. Yes, lavender.

He rolls his eyes, "There was no manly option. It's a carousel! It's made for little kids."

_That's not what your expression said!_ I silently taunt back. Instead I just roll my eyes, obviously unconvinced.

The excitement ends when the ride creaks to a stop. I'm surprised that my ears don't immediately pick up the groans of walkers.

"I choose next!" Carl shouts as he hops off the ride to the next one. He shuts off the ride completely and the lights turn off too. I run after him, careful not to move my left arm as I do. No reason to cut short the fun because of the stupidest rule.

He chooses bumper cars and I'm the one that fires up the ride this time. Whimsical lights illuminate the place, however this one starts off quieter, but it wouldn't be any fun if we didn't run into each other. Carl's sitting in the dark blue car and I narrow my eyes at him, because that was the only blue one. I end up picking green, because that's next best.

Once I'm strapped in, Carl drives his car at me full throttle, which sounds menacing, but it's bumper cars, so it's a whole 5 miles an hour. Still the force of the impact throws me back and Carl has a mischievous glint in his eyes. When I recover, blinking the slight shock away, I glare at him.

_Oh it's on hot shot. Better hold onto your sheriff hat. _

I turn the car around, and make a seeming retreat, only to circle around and ram him from behind. He flashes me a look and then it's on for real. We wheel around slamming into each other over and over. Until the ride shuts down, and then Carl gets up and starts it again. I laugh and it goes on that way for a way for a while.

There's this look of determination on Carl's face, but it's weird because he's laughing too. The air is filled with our laughs, sometimes my squeals if Carl manages to catch me off guard, and of course the sounds of our bumper cars colliding.

The ride wears down for the fourth time and I think we finally decide to move on. We shut it down and the lights fade. It's definitely the most depressing part of the experience. Like we're killing fun.

The moonlight shines brightly overhead now, it's a full moon tonight. The hat casts shadows upon Carl's pale face, and the sleeves of his Henley are pushed up, exposing his forearms that the moonlight shines silver. He's got this permanent grin on his face and his bright blue eyes are as alive as ever.

Next we go through the hall of mirrors. We have to use flashlights though so we can see in the dark. There's one where Carl's hat and head look twice as big as his body, and there's another where I'm taller than him for once.

"Does this mirror make me look fat?" I ask Carl jokingly. I'm facing a mirror that makes me look particularly round

He looks in the mirror and he looks at me, his chin rests in the space between his thumb and index finger, like he's doing some serious thinking, and then finally, he reaches his conclusion, "Yes,"

"Carl!" I protest, not really angered by his statement, but hell I'll give him a hard time anyway.

"You asked a question," he defends, "you wanted me to answer honestly and I did."

"You never call a lady fat," I scold him, pretending to be some school teacher.

"Yes ma'am," he rolls his eyes with a mocking tone in his voice.

We try to find the exit, and let me tell you, it's twice as hard in the mostly dark. _Wouldn't this be the place to find a walker_. We stop in front of another one and make faces.

"You excel at this," I comment playfully

"What?" he looks over at me.

"You're a natural at making stupid faces," I tease, nudging him with my elbow. _That'll get him back for calling me fat! _

"Ha ha," he rolls his eyes, then we move on and I take the lead with the flashlight. I turn the corner and I stop dead end. Frustrated, I turn around, but Carl's not there.

"Carl?" I call out cautiously

No answer.

"Carl!" I call more firmly, louder, I work my way back to where we were.

Nothing.

"Carl?!" My heart rate quickens, _this isn't funny_.

Silence.

I round the corner, looking frantically for him.

"Carl!?" I scream.

Something jerks into either side of my waist. I scream, terrified.

_I'm dead, it's a walker. I'm dead. Stupid Carl. If you hadn't been a dumbass and gotten lost. _

I turn around and shine my flashlight in the face of my inevitable death. I swallow, surprised, "Goddammit Carl! You scared the frickin' shit outta me!" I smack him in the chest and he laughs.

"Gotcha," he says with a smirk, his eyes are glistening conspiratorially. They clearly read 'I win' and I'm really glad I didn't pull my knife.

"That's not funny!" I protest even though I'm laughing now. I think it's mostly from hysteria.

He rolls his eyes with that stupid smirk on his face, "Come on, scaredy cat! I found the exit," he takes my hand and I wield the flashlight.

We do make it to the exit, and the moonlight greets us. I'm welcome to its natural light and I click off the flashlight, slipping it into my back pocket.

It's my turn to choose, and I know exactly where I'm going. The Tilt-a-whirl.

We arrive and I beam at it excitedly

"Oh come on," Carl groans, "this is more like the Tilt-a-hurl!"

"You picked the last two!" I protest, and he caves. I grin widely, and pull him on. I tell him to stay put and I fire up the ride. This one luckily has a delay too. I slide into the seat next to Carl, and it's clear he was showing some false dislike for the ride before, because he's eager as the ride fires up. It slings us around and we're both laughing and throwing our hands in the air. I look at Carl and his eyes are crinkled at the corners and the years of wear have dropped from his face and he looks like a kid, having the time of his life. He looks his proper age and it's great because it makes my heart happy. The ride tosses us back and forth because neither of us take up very much space, my hip crashes against his, and in an effort to make the collisions less, (_or I guess that's an excuse for it)_ Carl puts his arm around me, pushing me closer, so that our shoulders are touching too. I'm laughing and he's laughing and smiling and in that moment I feel like nothing can stop us. We're young, and we're free. We're infinite.

I'm looking at Carl and something in my gut wakes up the butterflies again. And suddenly, I'm very tempted to do something. But I can't be sure.

The ride slows down and I'm sad, I don't want this to end. I look at Carl to tell him that I'll start the ride back up if he wanted. But I don't get the chance.

He's kissing me. Carl Grimes, 14-almost-15-year-old badass in a sheriff hat, is kissing me. I'm shocked at first and I don't know what to do.

_Kiss him back stupid! _

So I do.

I know this can't last forever, but I don't care. In that moment, I only know one thing.

We're young, we're free, and we are _infinite_.


	26. Hope

There was a little saying Hershel used to have. Beth told me it back at the prison. You know, back before the Governor ruined everything. I really liked it, and it brought me a sensation of warmth in my chest. If we don't have hope, what's the point of living? And I liked that saying, it gave me a purpose. Something to always have, even when times got tough. It helped me through the sickness. And I still think hope can get us through a lot of things.

I'm the first to move away, and Carl's hands shift from my waist reluctantly. If I couldn't hear the dreadful groan of walkers, I probably wouldn't be moving either.

"Walkers," I mumble, everything seems slightly hazy, I feel too light. I have to pull myself back to reality, but my limbs aren't anxious to move, especially when I try to get up to run. "We gotta go." I snap myself back to reality, and Carl does too.

We run to our getaway truck, and Carl says he'll get the gate. I throw open the door and turn the truck on, putting it in drive. Carl opens the gate and runs and jumps into the back of the truck. I press down on the accelerator and we're off. We fly past walkers and I must admit, I'm doing pretty well for a first time driver. There's a small window in the back of the truck that Carl pushes open from the bed of the truck and promptly squeezes through. He gets into the seat, and I've made it out to the main road. He buckles his seat belt and lets out a sigh. And we're back to real life. Just like that. Crazy how that happens.

He lifts his hands to the air vents tentatively, "Is this," he's unsure and mildly surprised, "air conditioning?"

I nod eagerly, "I forgot what it was like. Man, isn't it great?"

Carl grins and sets his hands down, letting more of his body absorb the cool air.

"So when do I get my hands on the wheel?" He looks over at me, almost jealously.

"Mmmmm, I'm thinking not for a while. You're a little young," I tease, beaming pridefully. For once my slight age advantage dominates over his slight height advantage.

"You're barely older!" He protests

"Ah yes, but those two months have brought me wisdom you have yet to know," I hold my head higher, still focusing on the road. _Now would be the time I screw up_. He rolls his eyes with mild annoyance.

"What do we do when run out of gas?" Carl asks after a while.

"We walk," I shrug. It's real late, and I don't turn on the headlights to attract walkers. The moonlight will have to do. The main road is pretty straight and maneuvering around the occasional stray walker is a breeze, _You'd have to be an idiot to crash a car in this day and age. _

Carl gives a funny little laugh, breaking the silence that'd been occurring the last five or ten minutes. I look over at him for a second, lifting a curious eyebrow, "What?"

"Back when we were at Hershel's farm, my mom took out a car to go looking for my dad. He was out with Hershel and Glenn, but my mom was so worried. So she drove out to look for him. At the time no one knew where she was. I was terrified at that dinner when we couldn't find her. So Shane went out looking for her. It turns out she managed to wreck her car, like completely flipped it, on an empty road."

My eyes grow huge and I stare unblinking at the road ahead in pure shock, _Damn I'm glad I didn't say__** that**__ out loud._

"That's terrible!" I tell him

"She was alright," Carl reassured me, "it's just kind of funny to think of now, because you've never driven before and we're doing just fine." he swallows, and goes silent, staring out the window. His joke is gone and his mind has fallen to a dark place. I'd reach over and grab his hand if I wasn't terrified to take one of my hands off the wheel.

I want to comfort him, but I don't know how.

There's more silence and then Carl from the dark place speaks up again, "She didn't deserve to die. She only died so Judith could live, and now she's gone too." Carl sniffs.

"Carl," I begin, searching for words to say. Normally I'd have something real deep and shit, but my mind is in other places. I want to tell him that we don't know if she's dead, but I saw that bloody baby carrier, it'd be a stretch to say she's still here.

He rests his head against the window, I can't take this.

I gently press on the break and I put the car in park. I reach over and I run my hand in a comforting motion over his back, and he doesn't look at me.

"Why don't you get some rest," I tell him, he's probably just tired, and you have less resistance to those dark places when you're tired, "I'll wake you when I start to get tired, that's if we don't run outta gas first." I add with a lighter mood, but Carl just nods. I give him a small sympathetic smile, the kind where just the corners of your mouth are barely turned up and your eyebrows lift too. Then I put the car back into drive, continuing on.

He drifts off, and I drive. I decide I like driving, especially with no one else to contend with. Just me and the road, and occasionally one or two walkers, which I speed up for and move out of the way. I start to relax a little and I get to start thinking again.

Trees fly past me, or maybe I fly past trees, either way the tree line becomes a blur on both sides and eventually, the truck sputters and sputters and then stops.

_Well, that was fun while it lasted._

The sky is beginning to lighten, but the sun won't rise for a couple hours yet. Fatigue blankets my body, and I need sleep too. So I make sure all the doors are locked and then I rest my head against the window. I'm asleep the moment my eyes close.

"Sam?" is the first thing I hear. I open my eyes and then shield them, the sun beams brightly through the windshield. I turn my head to Carl whose dark brown hair is severely disheveled and I let out a small laugh, he narrows his eyes with discouragement.

"Your hair," I point, trying to contain my giggle. Oh dear God, I'm giggling. That's the first in a while

"Well, you've looked better yourself," Carl grumbles, trying to defend himself.

I roll my eyes, I look around and there's only one walker stumbling our way. We can take it.

Carl takes off his hat, trying to flat his mess of hair, and I smirk. I pull down the visor, and check my hair out in the mirror. Vain of me, I know. Carl wasn't wrong to say the least, my dull honey hair is sticking out all over the place in a giant rat's nest. It looks like it's trying to take over my black beanie. I pull out the beanie, wincing slightly. I flatten my hair out as best I can then I run my fingers through it. I then braid my hair into 2 loose pigtail braids on either side of my head, I slip my beanie back on. Much better.

The walker's closer now. I do a quick to make sure he's the only one, then I grab my knife from its holder, I throw open the truck door, and I jump out. I run up to the ugly thing and get him in the eye. I twist my knife in and pull out. The walker falls, and I walk back to the truck.

"Ready?" I ask Carl, grabbing one of the bags.

"Yup," he grabs the other two, slinging the duffel bag over his body and the pack on his other shoulder. He steps out of the truck and we shut both doors. Back on the road again.

We walk for a couple hours until we reach where the road meets the railroad. And we see a sign.

_Sanctuary For All_

_Community For All_

_Those Who Arrive Survive_

Next to the sign is a faded map. All the tracks, and they meet up at one point. There's a huge star and big black letters over the point that read _TERMINUS_.

Something burns in my chest. A feeling, a strong one. One that I really should've felt sooner, but haven't the cause to until now.

Hope.

"Carl, we have to go." I tell him. My gut is screaming at me to do this. This has to be it, "If anyone made it out of the prison, this is where they'd head. We have to go."

He looks at me, unsure for a second, he wants to believe that maybe some of our group got out of there. I can see it by the light in his eyes. But he's not stupid, he's thinking it over.

"You think it's legit?" he looks at me, lifting an eyebrow.

"It's something," I shrug, maybe I was a bit too anxious, "this can't be the only sign." I reason.

He looks at me for a while, still struggling with what to do, a couple minutes go by, "I guess you're right. It is worth a shot." Carl kicks at the dirt with his hiking boot, "Let's go." he turns and we follow the tracks.

We follow the tracks for several hours, we pass through a couple small abandoned towns, occasionally having to take out some walkers, but it's not much. My biggest fear is that a herd will come along. We can't take on one of those alone.

The sun starts to go down and we decide to set up camp. We head decide to stay near the railroad since it's harder to miss anything coming up in the open. We start a little fire, and we tie the cans we eat out of for dinner to some string. We stake out our little camp area, lining it with cans that'll clink if we're disturbed, we pull out the blanket from my bag. Carl opens up the bag with the medical supplies and his eyes go to my shoulder.

I roll my eyes, I know it needs to be changed to keep off the infection, so I just sit there and let him take care of what needs to be done. It's over quickly and Carl doesn't seem too alarmed by its appearance, I still refuse to look.

He wraps it back up and then we sit next to each other by the fire, I lean against him and the blanket is wrapped around both of us. We're just conserving body heat. That's what this is called, right?

After a long period of comfortable silence, Carl speaks up, "You rest," he instructs, "I'll take first watch."

I cast him a warning glance, "If you hear anything-"

"I'll wake you," he promises. His eyes are soft as he looks at me, his face illuminated by the glow of the fire. _How can I say no to that face?_ I mean, _yeah sleep is pretty cool. No Carl influence here, nope, no sirree bob. _

I glare at him, but eventually, I lay down, using his lap as a pillow. He moves the blanket that we'd been sharing over me. I protest and try to give some of it back to him, I don't want him to be cold. But he insists that I'm more important which feels like a joke to me. I'm too cold and too tired to care anymore, so I stop fighting his gesture. I stare into the fire's light, just listening to its crackling and the sounds of our breathing until I fade out.

I bolt to the sitting up position when I hear the clanking of cans. My hand goes to my knife and my eyes dart around nervously. I look over Carl and he looks at me and we both nod at the same time. We get to our feet and we sneak towards the sound of the clanking. Carl points his gun and I have my knife out.

There are two figures inside our camp and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. I lower my knife and realize Carl has dropped his gun to the ground.

His voice cracks in disbelief, "Dad?"


	27. Try

Nothing comes easy, in this world or the one we used to know. You have to try, put in a little elbow grease- or a lot- and your odds of achievement amplify tremendously. Sometimes we have to try when we don't want to, when our loved ones are down or upset, you have to try for them. You have to try and make things work. You have to try to live. Bottom line, you gotta try.

"Carl?" Rick's deep, gravelly voice fills my ears and my heart soars. I make out the other figure and a smile spreads across my face.

I run towards Michonne as Carl runs towards his dad. I embrace her, and she wraps her arms around me, "You're alive!" I cry in disbelief.

Michonne lets out a warm laugh, "It takes more than the Governor to get rid of us." she gives me a sly smile when I pull away.

Carl's still hugging his dad, and Rick hugs him back, they don't speak. The hat has fallen off Carl's head, and he doesn't look like he intends to pick it up any time soon.

"Judith?" I mouth at Michonne, and she looks down, she swallows hard and shakes her head eventually. I drop my head.

"Judy?" Rick asks Carl as the two finally separate. The color from Carl's face disappears, he's as white as a sheet. He shakes his head and his chest begins to heave. I start to move towards him and Michonne lightly holds me back. I look up at her, she shakes her head. _Let them work it out on their own._

"I thought you were dead," Carl admits, voice quivering. _This is __**not **__the time for me to tell him 'I told you so'. _Then I watch something strange happen to Carl's face in the moonlight, the glee from seeing his father and sadness at the reminder his baby sister is gone all melt. They melt into something new and almost horrifying. Anger, and hatred, "Why didn't you come for me?"

"Michonne found me, and we had to leave, Carl," Rick croaks out, "we had no choice, I didn't know who was still alive." it's clear that Rick being alive is a miracle. I can tell he's still a little wheezy and his face is still covered in bruises.

"I thought you were dead!" he spits out, stepping back from his dead, "I thought I lost everyone!"

_*Cough*, right here. _

"Carl!" Rick protests, but Carl's already turned on his heels and back to camp. I don't let Michonne hold me back this time, I go after Carl. I stop to pick up the hat he dropped on the way. His back is towards the other side of the camp and the glow of flames illuminates his back. I sit down next to him, he has his legs pulled up to his chest and his chin rests on his knees.

"Hey, you, uh, dropped this," I hand him the hat, and he takes it, but he doesn't say anything. We sit there in a deafening silence.

"Carl," I say quietly, trying to persuade him out of his mood. It does no good, he stares blankly ahead, unmoving.

"Carl, you can't be mad at him. He found us, he's here now."_ I can't tell him how to feel, he has rights to be mad. What am I doing..._

"I thought he was dead," he repeats for the third time, but it's different this time, he's not angry, he's not amazed, he's _broken_.

"But he's not," I squeak out, "he's here and that's good! He's alive Carl! That's more than I'll ever get." my voice drops out and I look away.

Carl stays like he's a statue and he doesn't say anything. I reach out to touch him, just to comfort him and he flinches away, "Just- just go to sleep Sam, I'll keep watch. You can tell that to them too." I look at him for a long time. _I can't fix this_, I can't break him from his current position. I have to let him be mad, let him blow it off on his own.

"Don't stay up too late," is all I say. I stand up and I go back over to where my blanket is. Michonne and Rick are setting themselves up on the other side of the fire and I stand up and go over to Michonne with my blanket.

"Carl said he'll take the first watch, so if y'all wanna go to bed..." I trail off, _what am I doing? Do I really think Carl's dad and mother figure are just going to stand by and let Carl keep watch on his own?_

"You kept him safe?" Rick looks at me, and I feel like shrinking away from the older man's judging stare.

"Yes sir, well, we kept each other safe," I nod sheepishly

Michonne's eyes go to the bulky part of my shoulder, "You got shot, back at the prison, didn't you?"

"I saw you," Rick confirms, "you went down."

"Yeah, I got shot," I can't meet their eye contact.

Michonne looks at me with new found interest, "And you still fought? You still protected Carl?"

"Well yeah," I shrug, "I did what I had to, and he helped me too. It's just what we do." I'm confused at what the adults are getting at, _why is it so hard to believe I did what I did?_

Michonne gives me a look of approval, "You're one tough kid."

"Thanks," I stare at my feet.

Rick looks at my shoulder, "You' been maintaining that shoulder? It ain't infected or nothin'?"

Oh God, here comes the awkward part. _Yeah I've been stripping for a son on a regular basis so he can 'fix' my 'shoulder' that's __**totally**__ what's been going on_, "Well, Carl helps out with that." I can't look at either of them.

Michonne cracks a smirk and Rick looks over at his boy, "Is that so?" he chuckles

"Yes sir," I nod, but I can't meet his gaze.

Michonne puts her arm around my shoulder, "Bet you've had a tough day, you should probably get some rest." she guides me back over to where I was and she sits down. I sit next to her and then lie down, resting my head on her leg after Michonne insisted on it. She makes sure the blanket is tucked around me and she pushes away the loose hairs from my face. She stares blankly into the fire and I watch Rick try to approach his son.

I don't hear whatever words are exchanged over the crackle of the fire and I don't try to, it's their business. Michonne continues to stroke my hair and I think about how she must have been a mom before all of this. That's the last thought I dwell on as I fade out of consciousness.

I wake early the next morning as the sun is just beginning to rise, the fire has died down to embers. Michonne stirs and I know she is awake. Then it occurs to me the last time Michonne and I were by a fire it was when Hershel was still alive, when we still had the prison.

I sit up and stretch, in the early morning light I make out Carl's outline, lying about 10-15 feet away, still asleep.

A thought pops in my head and it makes a frown form on my face, "Why wasn't I woken to keep guard?" I ask Michonne._ Has she slept at all?_

"Carl said not to, said you needed the rest," there's a look of knowing in Michonne's eye, "he cares a lot about you, you know."

_Don't remind me_._ No really, I'll blush and it'll all be over._ "Well we only had each other when we lost the prison, it's only natural." I shrug indifferently. Michonne rolls her eyes and then her eyes go to my shoulder.

"Mind if I give that shoulder a look over?" she asks, lifting a dark eyebrow.

I wince away at even the look at my shoulder. I'm protective over it, I mean it was enough that I let Carl take care of it and see it, it was necessity. But anyone else...

"I won't bite, it probably needs to be changed anyway," Michonne cracks a smile at her small joke. The smile exposes her brilliant white teeth, and it's a wonder how she can be a terrifying killer with a smile like that.

_Honestly? It's Michonne, Sam. Get over yourself!_

I let out a reluctant sigh and slip my arm out of the flannel shirt and pull down my tank top sleeve, exposing the gauze wrapped wound. Michonne is careful as she unwraps my shoulder and then her face goes blank as she hides any emotion. She peeks around to my other side, "You're lucky there's an exit wound, this could've been a lot worse."

I nod and Michonne asks where we have our medical supplies, I point her to the bag and she gets up and goes through it, grabbing what she needs. She comes back and cleans it up and properly dresses it. It scares me the way she remains blank faced the whole time.

As if Michonne can detect my uneasiness, she speaks up, "You're taking pretty good care of this shoulder. I wouldn't look so worried, just take it easy for a little while longer and it should heal up just fine."

"Thanks," I nod. I stand up once she's finished and I stand up, stepping towards Carl. _Should I wake him up? Or is he still being Moody Carl._

I decide to let him be and I notice Rick's up too. _Of course he is, those habits he formed as a farmer won't just disappear overnight._

I debate telling Rick about his son's episode that first night, when he screamed at the sky, cursing his name. _No Sam, that won't fix anything. Let them sort it out on their own. He doesn't need you, he isn't dependent on the air you breathe._

So instead I go to the bag with the food and I dig out a bag of beef jerky, caving into my stomach's grumbles. I offer some to the adults, but they tell me to eat. So I do, but only a few pieces, with more people means more food, which means less to go around.

Carl wakes up as I finish my third jerky piece and it's immediately prevalent that he's still pissed. I offer him some of the jerky and he just shakes his head at me. He has the hat tipped close over his eyes and he's even walking differently.

We pack up camp shortly after the sun rises completely and we head back onto the tracks. Carl walks ahead of all of us, I lurk back next to Michonne and occasionally Rick calls for Carl to stay back some. To this Carl, Carl remains undeterred.

I'm starting to get kind of pissed, I'm not gonna lie. Carl's dad is alive. If my dad showed up in the woods, I'd never leave his side. I mean, I sort of understand that he feels betrayed and that maybe in some twisted thought that blankets Carl's mind, Rick lost the prison. That he blames him. _But for Christ's sake, it's your father, you thought he was dead, __**but he's not.**__ Be happy why don't you? Or at the very least a little more grateful._

Michonne tries to break Carl of his anger, bless her for doing so. She does this kinda run thing to catch up with him, and she pulls out a can from her bag.

"Krazy Cheese?" she offers him the can, to which Carl turns away and continues to march on.

"It's unopened," Michonne says in an almost sing-song tone, "You can have the first pull." _Oooh, Krazy Cheese. Goddamn I'd kill for some of that. Hey you know if Carl's gonna be cranky, I'd be more than willing to take that first pull. Whaddya say? Come on Michonne, we don't need Carl. _

_Nope_, Carl remains emotionless. Michonne even does a bit over the top demonstration to try and lure Carl into caving. _No dice_. Carl pushes ahead even faster and Michonne falls back in pace with me. She wipes the extra off her mouth, because yes, she got _that_ into it.

"I'm just no good at making kids y'all's age laugh," Michonne sighs, discouraged.

I give a little shrug, "Ain't your fault he's being pouty." then I add, "I laughed, on the inside at least." I look away and I think Michonne gives a small smile.

Michonne flashes me a surprised frown, "Don't you think you should talk to him?"

I shake my head slightly, "He ain't gonna listen. He's being a stupid boy. I already tried. He's kinda starting to scare me."

Michonne gives me a look and I can't keep her gaze, I look down and she pushes me forward a little, "Why don't you try again?"


	28. Okay

Sometimes, you can never tell whether things are gonna be okay or not. Sometimes you have to make it that way. But other times, you have to roll with it and hope for the best, because you really can't do all that much about it, and you have to hope what you can do will be enough.

"Carl, you're being a dick."

_Ok. I didn't really say that, for that I'd have to be blunt, for that I'd have to have a surmising amount of confidence. I mean, hell, I've said and done some pretty, er, confident things, but __**that**__- it just wasn't me._

"Carl, are you... ok?" I do ask, I've caught up with him and my hand gently rests against his forearm, which he's now covering with a dark blue hoodie, it's pretty chilly today. I think I'm gonna need to pull out my jacket. From a real look at him, I can tell his mind has drifted off to the dark places.

"No," he tells me plainly.

"You can't hate him forever," I don't instruct, I plead.

"Watch me," he grumbles.

_Ok, my pissed off levels just rose to about a 9, any higher and I'm about to screw my norms._

"He tried Carl. He tried to find you. He tried. That's all that matters. He didn't have a choice. He's here now."

"I'm... I'm not mad about that." he's still not looking at me.

"Then what the hell are you mad about?" I groan

"He lost everyone else in the process, the other's, they're still gone. Judith is still dead. My mom is still dead. Glenn, Daryl, Maggie. All of them, and it's all because he didn't take care of the Governor like he should have."_ Oh great, we're back to this point again._

I'm gentle as I choose my next words, "Your mom had nothing to do with the Governor." I gently remind him. _My mom on the other hand..._

"But the others. He could've saved them! He could've saved the prison! He could've done something, before the Governor even got there. If he hadn't played farmer," he sneers and the word '_farmer;_ slips off his tongue like it's something vile.

"Carl, he tried, I heard him, I saw him. The Governor was a psychopath, there was no amending to what he had done. No matter what, whether we gave the prison away or we fought, we were gonna lose our home. That was not your dad. That was not his fault." my eyebrows pull together as I firmly tell Carl the facts, "You need him Carl, whether you like it or not, he's still your father. He still loves you. You can't go it alone Carl, not in this world. Not anymore."

He looks at me for the first time, and honestly I was hoping for something a bit softer, but no. He's glaring. Hardcore glare, his bright blue eyes are cold as they bore into me, "Who are you to tell me how to feel."

_Excuse me! I am your girlfriend... I think?_

_I mean we kissed, and you saw me half-naked, and I think you like me?_

_'Cause I know I…. _

_Never mind. This is beside the point._

I jerk him to a stop, _That's it. No mercy, buddy boy. _His glare intensifies, "I'm not. I'm telling you're mad over something you can't control. You don't even know if the things you are saying are true. They still might be alive, your dad and Michonne are, and you thought they were dead! Carl, I know it hurts, and I am sorry we lost the prison, but you can't go on like this. Anger makes you stupid. And stupid gets you killed. And that's one thing I won't stand for. As your whatever-the-hell-I-am, I am not going to stand by and let your anger get you killed."

He stares at me, but it's less glary now._ Good, because let me tell you, sheriff, I can glare right back._

"Fine," is all he says and he starts walking again, but it's more normal now. And Rick and Michonne have caught up with us, and I'm glad Carl doesn't speed up. I'm not going after him again. _Who am I kidding, I totally would, I'd just have to put my temper under control._

"There," I mumble to Michonne, "I tried." she nods and gives me a small reassuring smile.

"He'll come around," she says almost tiredly. _Or not, because he's Carl Grimes, stubborn as hell, and does whatever he wants to. But sure, if it makes you feel better._

We walk on, occasionally Michonne will speak up, trying to initiate some conversation, but Carl's not for it, and I've given up on trying.

I'm bored, Rick and Michonne walk slightly ahead of me now, and I decide to start walking on the railing of the railroad, I try to keep my balance as my backpack tries to foil my plans.

Over the past hour since speaking to him, Carl's air of movement has slowly shifted more towards normal. I'm pleased when he cracks a look over at me, and a couple paces more, he joins me.

"I bet I can go longer than you can," I call over to him with a challenging tone.

"Nope," Carl's tone is lighter now, like he could almost laugh. He's in challenge mode now. I have to hope he's broken out of that annoying Cranky Carl mood.

"I always win," I remind him in a sing-song tone.

"Is that so?" a smirk cracks out on his face, and his eyebrows lift.

"Yup," I beam pridefully and continue on.

"We'll just have to see about that," Carl looks over at me again, and I think it's gone. He's back. At least for now, gotta embrace it while I can.

"What do you wanna bet?" Carl asks, we're a minute or two in. _I can do this, psh, easy._

_Well, there are several things I could put up on the table. Personally, I'm in for another kiss, but your dad and Michonne are here. And that could get awkward if they question or relationship status considering__** I**_ _don't really know._

_I'm not sure if we can really ask Michonne to put in a bit from her dwindling candy stash either…_

"You choose," I say distractedly. _Must. Not. Lose. Concentration_.

Carl's eyes dart ahead, looking at his dad and Michonne. He slows down, but maintains his balance, I do the same. Once he feels confident they're far enough ahead, he speaks at a low whisper, "I get to kiss you again if I win." _Hell, I might as well jump off right now._

_I mean, Whoa there sheriff, getting' a little eager aren't ya? _

_Yeah. That's what I meant._

"And if I win?" I lift an eyebrow at him.

It's like he's out of ideas, "You don't have to kiss me?" he almost slips off.

"Maybe I wanna," my eyes grow huge. _Did I just say that?!_ I am certain I didn't pass that one through the old brain.

Carl laughs, "Well then I guess I've already won."

"Not a chance," Screw prizes, I'm in for bragging rights.

I focus hard on the railing,_ I'll show him, that silly boy, thinking he can beat me. Ha._ My arms are extended into a T formation and I bite my tongue, which is sticking out a little. My eyebrows knit together with my concentration.

"What are y'all doin'?" Rick turns around and looks at us.

"Winning a bet," Carl calls out, he's on speaking terms again. _This is good. _

I scoff, "In your dreams,"

"I'm still on," he reminds me. Then he stumbles and Michonne laughs.

"Looks like you spoke too soon, wise guy." Michonne comments, "Get 'em Sam." She smiles and exposes her bright teeth. Rick starts walking towards us, Michonne matches him step for step.

"This might go on a while. Maybe we can speed this up?" his tone is patient, clearly he's glad to see his son in better spirits.

"You're right," I let out a false sigh, leaning a little towards Carl, "we should probably " my balance waivers and I step off. Shit. I look over at Carl.

Carl flashes me a smile like the ones I got back at the carnival, genuine. He steps off pridefully, and stalks over to me with a devilish, smug smirk, "Pay up." A mischievous eyebrow flicks up and I scowl at him.

"Later," my tone is insistent, I'm not gonna let him kiss me in front of his dad and Michonne, that'd be a little weird.

Now Carl's the scowling one, but it's all in good fun. He starts to move towards me and I hold him off, _Playing hard to get. Aren't I the bad girl?_

"Later," I tease in a sing-song tone.

We're back to the normal walking again and I'm walking besides Michonne, and she pops an inquiring eyebrow, "What was the prize exactly?" she's smirking and I stare at the railroad passing under my feet.

"It's… complicated," there's a little smile that pops out when I say and I'm blushing like a fool.

She lets out a chuckle, "I'm sure," she teases.

That night we make camp further in the woods, wouldn't be my choice, but Rick's our leader now, I'm just a kid. We string up our cans around the little area to give a little warning for walkers.

We drop our bags, finally bringing relief to my good shoulder, it's been aching from the all-day weight. Any warmth the sun has provided is quickly fading so I finally pull out my jacket. I slip it on and I see Rick and Michonne staring with horrified expressions that they make themselves minimize. I look away, trying to stop the burning sensation of discomfort their stares bring.

_Oh yeah, the blood._ To say I had forgotten my jacket was completely bloodstained would be a lie. I mean the color stood out against the otherwise calm denim canvas. But I think I've almost become desensitized to its heinous appearance. I'm cold and this keeps me warm, and I've otherwise quit giving a shit about how I look.

Rick bites on the inside of his lips and nods like Carl does sometimes when he's uncomfortable, "I think I'll go see if there's anything out there we can catch. Carl, mind helpin' me out?"

"I'll get a fire started," Michonne offers. She doesn't ask me for help, but I do anyways. I help her dig a makeshift fire pit and Carl leaves with his dad.

More dirt gets under my nails as I dig past the leaves that have already fallen from the surrounding trees. I sit back on my heels and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand once I'm satisfied and Michonne leans back too.

"That should do, why don't you go on and collect some firewood?" Michonne suggests kindly, she's still shielding her emotions some, I guess the jacket _is_ kind of offsetting.

I nod in confirmation and I push myself up. I roll my bad shoulder, it's been doing better, and I'm glad, especially after that little infection scare.

I stretch my leg over the can line and go off into the woods to search for twigs and fallen branches. My shirt is tucked behind my knife scabbard in case of emergencies. I've collected a couple large, thick branches and several twigs that'll be good for starting the fire, when I hear voices. I throw myself behind the biggest tree I can find.

"Carl, I'm sorry." It's Rick. A sigh of relief escapes my lips.

Carl lets out a discouraged grumble, he's trying to stay out of the dark places, I know it, "You don't have to be. I was an asshole." Their footsteps are closer, each step filled with crackling leaves beneath heavy feet.

"Watch your mouth," Rick scolds, but he lets out a small laugh. I peek my head around the trunk of the tree and I catch Carl giving a small roll of the eyes. They're better. That's very good. I don't think they've noticed me, but I guess that's good too. I didn't mean to eavesdrop.

I watch as Rick slaps a happy arm around his son, pulling him closer for a side embrace.

Yes. Maybe everything will be okay.


	29. Later

That night we roast rabbit over the open fire. Carl practically hasn't shut up about it because _he's_ the one who caught it. They also collected some berries that Rick said shouldn't be poisonous. I'm really counting on that shouldn't be, because the taste of fresh berries is so pleasant it hurts. It's good to eat something that isn't just drenched in preservatives, don't get me wrong. I love that shit, it keeps me alive, and it's everywhere, but there's no beating fresh food.

It concerns me that the amount of food that could keep Carl and I going for a full day or two is all consumed in one meal, and I'm not even full. I guess that's what happens when four people, two of which probably haven't eaten in a day get after a rabbit and some berries. We also split off the rest of the jerky, that goes quick.

I sit beside Carl as we eat, knees barely touching as we sit cross-legged on one side of the fire. Rick and Michonne sit on the other, I feel them watching us, even when I bow my head to get the food into my mouth quicker. Their eyes bore into my skull and it makes my face burn with a blush. What do they expect us to do, honestly? Maybe it's because I can feel Carl looking at me on the side. Are my eating patterns that interesting?

Finally the heat of their looks is too much, I swallow a greasy mouthful of rabbit, "What?"

Carl taps me on my upper arm and I swing my head towards him, he wipes a drip of grease from my chin, "Better," he chuckles.

The adults exchange a smirking glance, oh great. I flash a mild look of annoyance at Carl and he rolls his eyes and smirks.

He wipes his hands on his pants, because he's done eating, then he takes his hand that's closest to me and intertwines his fingers with mine.

My face goes slack with surprise for a moment and then I give Carl a look, my eyes wide and brows raised, like 'are you sure you wanna do this' and he shrugs nonchalantly as if to say 'we're holding hands it's no big deal'.

I mean to me it was a big deal. Before us holding hands was more a comforting thing, like 'I'm here for you' or 'let's go be crazy together', but now it's a gesture of affection and it's different, especially with spectators. But Carl doesn't mind, so I guess I shouldn't either.

Rick gives his son a look, but Carl ignores it, because he's Carl Grimes. I, however, are not so invincible to such looks and I look down at my food. I have a couple of those berries left and half a piece of jerky. About half of my meal, and my stomach feels so anxious that I don't want to eat the rest. Eat Sam, you self-conscious moron. So I do, but it's slow and I finish after everyone else.

We offer to take the first shift of watch, Rick and Michonne are reluctant at first, probably for multiple reasons, but I insist I didn't get to last night and I guess that's enough for them.

Rick sleeps with his head in our general direction and Michonne sleeps facing beyond our camp, like she's watching for walkers. Carl and I sit in pretty much silence until the only noises around are the sounds of Rick's still slightly labored breathing, Michonne's even breathing, and the sounds of the fire crackling. There's vague sounds of crickets and maybe a cicada or two, but to my ears they're almost blurred. Besides, it's getting a little chilly for those suckers.

I lean against Carl after a while, our hands are still intertwined and he lets out a sigh. He rests the side of his head against the top of my head. I could stay like this forever, it's comfortable, though quiet, and that's fine. I close my eyes and I feel myself drifting off. No Sam, you're keeping watch, watch already.

I pinch my arm and blink my eyes open, stay awake.

Carl clears his throat and moves his head, I look at him, "What is it?" I keep my voice low.

"I didn't mean what I said last night, about losing everyone. I didn't, and it's a damn good thing I didn't." He bows his head, like he's ashamed of himself.

"I know you didn't mean it," I look him in the eyes, "you were distraught, I understand."

He just stares at me for a while, his eyes never leaving mine. I just give him a small smile, the corners of my mouth turned up slightly. He bites just barely on the inside of his bottom lip. Then he kisses my cheek. "Thank you." Is all he says and I rest my head back against his shoulder. Good talk, good talk.

Our watch is nice and peaceful, mainly just enjoying the company of each other, until we both start nodding off.

I shoot my head up, blinking, we need to wake up Rick. I pull away from Carl and he jolts awake, he blinks sleepily at me I nod towards Rick and he nods back. I crawl over to Rick and gently shake his shoulder. He's quick to wake up and I use my best awake voice to explain that it's his turn to take over. I don't think I did a very good job of acting. He nods and I crawl back over to Carl, who has the blanket, our blanket, and I happily curl up next to him, quickly passing out.

Carl's stirring the next morning is what wakes me, the sun is just parting the horizon. I sit up and stretch, my grow huge. Shit. Rick and Michonne are both up and staring at the two of us.

"When were y'all gonna tell us?" Rick chuckles lightheartedly. _Oh dear Jesus, let me face his father's wrath with strength. _

_Well, whenever I knew. _

"You guys seemed to have a pretty good idea without us saying anything. We, uh, didn't feel it was necessary," Carl explains. _Yeah, that's it._ I'm still frozen, incapable of defending myself.

_Guess that makes us a thing? Why didn't we discuss this last night? Did we really think they'd stay oblivious forever?_ No, they were never oblivious, I saw those looks. We just made ourselves obvious by sleeping practically on top of each other. I should've been more conscientious about everything, _God I can be an idiot sometimes. _

I nod and I guess the conversation moves on. We eat a quick breakfast of a couple cans of fruit cocktail and we pack up camp, back to the tracks.

Now that Rick and Michonne really know, Carl has no problem with displaying affection and we spend the day walking hand in hand, I'm not gonna lie, I enjoyed it. We pass another Terminus sign and I confirm mentally we are all on the same page. Not too far after that we run into a pack of walkers about 15 strong. Carl and I break apart and Michonne takes her katana to the first three's heads. I knife a couple and Carl and Rick take down some more. It's over short and quick. _Woo. There's a way to get your adrenaline pumping in the morning._

We continue walking and Rick takes the lead again, "We've got about a day's worth of water left," He turns his head to speak to us. Water's not the only thing we're low on, food's starting to look a little scarce too. _Where's an abandoned town when we need one?_

"How's your shoulder?" Carl asks, his eyes drift that way, and I yank on his hand that's already reattached itself to mine. My trick work and his eyes go to my face instead.

"Doesn't matter," I shake my head at him, Michonne changed it again this morning, I still haven't looked, but she says it's healing fine, "I'm just lucky I didn't injure the arm I use my knife with." Which is true, otherwise this dumb thing would never heal.

"I'm sorry I care," Carl teases, I flash him a look and stick my tongue out at him.

I obnoxiously swing my hand back and forth which makes his swing that way too, he gives me a tired look and grin too wide. He chuckles and lets me go with it. Hey, he's the one that insisted on holding hands.

_Ok, he didn't insist, he held my hand and I didn't let go, but same difference._

The rest of the day goes quickly and we take out what few walkers we see. We make camp a little into the woods like the night before and we take on similar tasks as last nights. Only Rick and Carl go collecting wood instead of hunting. Michonne and I put all but 2 of the remaining cans into a pot and we heat it over a new fire pit once Carl and Rick return. We pass around the pot and take a bite as it goes around.

Carl and I take first watch again, Rick and Michonne give us and then each other this look and then go onto sleep. The stars are out tonight, and they glow brightly above us.

I'm leaning into him and then I decide I'm not gonna let this opportunity of us being alone go to waste.

"What are we?" I ask. It's innocent enough, but I still catch myself for being so blunt.

Carl gives me a look, but he's got that lazy smirk going on, and it's adorable, "Human?"

I roll my eyes and shove his chest playfully, "No stupid, I meant like us."

I'm silently cursing myself for bringing up such a vain subject, _it's not crucial to our survival. We'll still get up and move on tomorrow whether I know our relationship status or not._

"Oh," he goes quiet, "I guess I hadn't thought about it..."

_I figured this much, he's a boy, I mean honestly._

"Just forget it," I shake my head, "it's not important."

"Yeah it is," Carl argues, "You asked a valid question. I just don't know the answer." _You told Rick and Michonne... I guess that was different though._

His reaction calms me down some, I nod in understanding.

"Well I like you," I shrug like it's nothing. But it's not. It's a lot of things. It makes my heart choke up nervously.

"I like you a lot," Carl admits, his cheeks turning red.

_I mean I kinda figured, you kissed me, and want to again. Generally that's a good sign._

"I guess that makes us boyfriend and girlfriend?" He proposes

I look down, now I'm blushing, "I... I guess it does."

_Cool. First boyfriend. Score._

"Hey Sam," Carl says, and I make myself look at him.

"Yeah, Carl?" I push the hair that falls in face behind my ear.

He stammers for a bit and then forces his words out, "Is it later yet?"

Internally, I'm freaking out. _He's saying it. He's saying it! Calm down, child. Act human._ So I roll my eyes at that silly boy, "Yes."


	30. Blinded

Being blinded is a funny term. I mean of course there's the normal, can't see, kind of blindness. But there's also the kind we all suffer from time to time. You can be so distracted by one thing, you don't even notice another thing. No matter the importance of said thing, you can be blinded. It happens to the best of us, and sometimes you wish you could stay blinded.

"We should stay here a couple days longer," Rick says the next morning

"What?" Carl speaks up, "Why? What's so great about here?"

Rick lets out a sigh, "Well, it's working for now. Listen, Sam needs to let that shoulder heal and I am not completed back to normal, so we have to stay here a couple days longer. Here's as good as any place." His voice is gravelly, which is normal, and almost slightly wheezy, which is not. He's right, he's not up to par, and I don't have the heart to tell him things don't really go to plan when I'm told to rest.

We go with it though, I feel like we're falling into a rhythm and I'm kind of ok with it. Get up, kill walkers as needed, eat, take watch with Carl, sleep. The food dwindles and dwindles until there isn't any and we're in search of a town. Carl and Michonne go scavenging every day, they mostly come back with edible plants, but occasionally there's a squirrel or two, maybe a rabbit. Those are the days we eat best.

About a week has gone by, we've gone to boiling creek water, and my stomach is almost always growling. However, we're moving tomorrow, my shoulder is nearly completely healed it and Rick has stopped wheezing, the bruises on his face have healed as well.

I get to go out with Carl and Rick to check the snares they've set up today and Michonne decides to stay at our camp.

The weather has gotten even colder and these days I'm wearing a pair oversized gray sweat pants instead of my jeans with the holes in the knees, much warmer. My Docs crunch leaves below me as we walk and finally we come up on the first snare. We're in luck, we've gotten a rabbit.

"There you go!" Rick reaches down to grab it, "It's a small one, but it'll do." He stuffs it in his bag and Carl and I crouch down next to him.

He resets the snare, explaining as he goes, "So, this is just a simple slip knot. Tie one on both ends," he tightens the knot on the branch end, "Then ya tighten one side to a branch." He points at the ground, I immediately recognize the funnel shape leading into the snare, _clever_. "Now ya see how the ground here, it's sorta like a funnel shape." Yes, I can see that much

Carl narrows his eyes, studying it for a moment, "It's a trail." He realizes, his face kinda brightens at this epiphany of sorts. _I have to admit, it's really cute…_

Rick nods, "That's right."

I nudge Carl with my shoulder, "Way to go, sheriff." I tease

"That's where you wanna set the noose," he ties the other slipknot and sets it on the ground.

"So you hide it with leaves," Rick instructs, covering the bottom of the knot with leaves, "then ya set sticks all around it." He does what he instructs.

I narrow my eyes, nodding to what he says, "That way any animal that's going by will have to run this way." He sticks his hand into the noose.

"Right into the trap." I muse. _This sort of thing could work on more than just rabbits. You could do it with fish, maybe even bigger animals._ The realization makes me uncomfortable the further I think of its extensions.

"You catch on quick," Rick gives me an approving nod. He pulls his hand out of the noose, and that's when I hear the scream.

Before I know what's going on Carl's running in the direction of the scream's origin.

"Carl!" I call out.

"Carl!" Rick bellows, he goes chasing after him.

My feet are glued to the forest floor, fear freezing me in place. _Sam! Go! Move!_ I blink my stupor away and go after Rick, and Carl by extension.

I pound through the forest after them, screw keeping quiet, screw the walkers, everything else takes a back seat to me, getting to them. I pump my arms and I feel liquid pain warm my shoulder.

I ignore the sensation and keep running. I catch up and Rick has grabbed Carl away from running any further and watch the scene beyond the two of them fold out.

There's our screamer, a man in glasses, probably in his twenties. He's surrounded by walkers, and it doesn't look good. I don't have my gun and even if I did, 6 bullets won't make a difference.

I want to move, I know I need to. But I can't, I'm paralyzed again. Rick and Carl are staring at me, I can feel them looking at me, and I can also see from my peripherals that Rick is waving me over, _Move Sam!_ I scream at myself, but I can't.

The walkers have already gotten to the man and the screaming intensifies. He thrashes about, trying to get away, but it's too late. He's a dead man walking. The groan of the walkers screams in my ears and if I could move, I'd clamp my hands over my ears to make the noises stop.

My gut churns, and I can't even avert my eyes. I should be able to, why can't I?

Just when I think it can't get any worse, of course it does. My widen, scared eyes meet that of the dying man. He sees me, it's like with Boots, when I cowered under the bed. I can't move, I can't think, I just watch. The man's eyes plead for me, to do anything, even if it's put him out of his misery. But I can't, and I feel myself shake my head just slightly.

_I am a despicable human being. I am evil and vile. Just watch him die, why don't you? Does this bring you pleasure Sam? Is this how you get your kicks?!_

Then the man's two eyes on me become one as a walker rips it out from his head. A hand goes to my mouth to muffle the scream that ends up getting stuck in my throat anyways. A moment later the walkers overtake what remains of the man, and Rick is running towards me now. He grabs my right arm and I can move again. We run back to the camp, hoping the walkers don't hear us.

"We have to go," Rick shouts at Michonne, she gives Rick a strange look at first but immediately stamps the fire out anyway. We grab our bags, which already mostly packed. It's just shoving a few things in and running.

We run for a while, we make it back to the tracks and Rick stops. He wheezes for a bit, but he soon recovers and we continue walking along the tracks.

I walk behind everyone else, still shaken from what I just saw. I don't understand why I'm as disturbed by the experience as I am. People are eaten by walkers all the time. I've seen it before, I just… I'm not even sure. I hug myself and I stare at the ground as I walk.

"Sam?" I hear Carl's voice, but I don't look up, I feel his arm touching mine lightly, "What… what happened back there?"

I shake my head, the idea of words makes my mouth go dry. Well, drier than it already is.

"Sam," Carl's voice is gentle and careful, "It's alright."

"Please," I manage to choke out, "Just leave me alone." I don't want to be around him like this, I don't want him to see my insanity.

"No," he says firmly, "I'm not gonna leave you. It's stupid to ask if you're ok, because you're not. I see that. And if you don't wanna talk about it, then ok. But I'm not leaving you." He pulls my arm out of my self-embrace. He steals my hand and gives me a smirk indicating he doesn't plan on letting go.

I let out a sigh, I'm not going to win. _Put it away Sam, pretend you're ok_. I try, but I can't master that completely. I stay quiet, but I do look up and try smiling at Carl.

We run into basically no trouble and find somewhere else to camp for the night. Tonight, we found a car just off the tracks on a road. I help Michonne start the fire and Rick pulls out the rabbit from earlier. It doesn't go very far and my stomach is still grumbling once I've finished.

Rick and Michonne are exchanging small talk and I watch them with a supreme lack of interest.

"Sam," Carl speaks up suddenly, "did you hurt your shoulder earlier?"

I look at him for a moment, confused at what he means. _I mean yeah. I did something earlier, and the pain's been back. But nothing new…._ "Maybe, why?" I look at him, trying to figure out what's going on.

He points at my shoulder, my jacket is covering it, and there's the old blood, which is fading from my constant wear, and then there's bright red pulsing through, creating new stains. Carl orders me to turn so he can see my back.

"Dammit Sam," he curses, "why didn't you say you were bleeding again?"

_I didn't think…. I just I…._

I just shrug, which makes my shoulder hurt even worse. Rick and Michonne have their attention focused on me now, "Honey, why don't you take off your jacket, we'll just check your shoulder out. Carl, get her some Advil or something." Michonne instructs and she moves over to me. Carl brings her the bottle of pain relievers and some gauze and alcohol. I remove my jacket and then the flannel shirt, and another long sleeve, and I slip my arm out of the tank top.

The cool night chills my bare arms as Michonne tends to my shoulder, there's an edge of relief in her voice, "It's alright, you just opened the wound again and agitated it. Nothing that won't heal." She smiles kindly, and I look down. _How could I have been so stupid. I can't believe I didn't notice something like this earlier._

I guess I was just blinded.


	31. Taken

Sometimes we take things that are not ours. Before it was immediately wrong to take things that did not belong to you. But still people took from stores and took from houses. Now, it's a little different. Sometimes we take to survive, there's no one to claim the items we take anymore, like food from abandoned stores. But there is that defining line that still stands with us. It is wrong to take things from someone else, things they hold near and dear to them. Things that are physical, like food or books. But you can also take metaphysical things. And them being metaphysical does not make them any less wrong.

I layer back up after Michonne re-bandages my shoulder. Even that can't damper tonight's cold. Rick and Michonne insist that Carl and I use the abandoned car as shelter. When I ask about watch duty, Rick says they'll take the first shift tonight, which I took to code as _y'all aren't gonna watch tonight._ Once they start the shift, it's hard for them to switch that duty over to us. So Carl grabs our blanket and we go hunker down in the car. We settle into the back seat and we don't talk much, we just kind of sit there, I lean against him and he rests his head against mine. He doesn't ask about earlier or why I kept the shoulder thing from him, which in all honesty was accidental. And I like that, sometimes Carl knows when to keep his mouth shut.

It doesn't take long for the wear of the day to make my eyelids droop. I start to pull away from Carl and he casts me a confused look. We really can't lay down in this car, so I just figured I shift over to the other side and rest my head against the side of the car, like Carl was already doing. I'm too tired to successfully produce words and so I just nod my head towards the other side of the car. There's a moment of realization that crosses his face, and he gives me a sleepy nod. So I get comfortable and then I get an idea. I turn so that my back faces the car door, I put my legs up on the seat, they're bent so Carl still has room. Now I can rest my head against the seat, much softer. Much better. Carl looks over at me, lifting a curious eyebrow, I stick my tongue out at him because I thought of the idea first, in response, he grabs my legs and yanks them into his lap. I let out a protesting yelp and he chuckles.

"They're mine now," he teases, shaking my foot and I glare at him.

"You're such a dork," I sigh, I lean my head back and close my eyes. He doesn't let go of my legs, and I really don't care because I'm asleep before long.

"Sam," Carl's voice comes at a focused hiss, the tone is scary and I'm instantly awake. I look at him, and his eyes are frightened. I open my mouth to ask why, but then I look just above him and I see a man.

I scream, and both doors of the car fly open, someone grabs me from behind. The man from the window takes Carl.

I hear the slash of a knife cut through fabric and suddenly my sweat pants are at my ankles.

I thrash wildly, trying to escape the grasp of my captor. A grimy hand that smells foul clasps over my mouth to muffle my scream. My mind races like crazy and it's not like before when I can't move or think, that's all I can do now. But now it's completely useless.

I shove my elbows back, meeting the assumed man's torso, he groans but that only tightens his grip on my small body.

"Quit your squirming, that'll only make it hurt more," a disgusting cackle rings in my ear. I'm horrified as I realize the voice rings a vague bell. His vile breath is hot against my neck and I can feel his unshaven face pressed next to mine. It's rough against my cheek and terror courses through my veins. The man holds still long enough for me to take in some of my surroundings.

I've been pulled away from the car and I see Rick. There's another man there, he's got a gun pressed against Rick's skull. Another gun's pointed at Michonne. My frightened eyes make their way over to Carl. The man I saw in the window has a knife to Carl's throat and has him tightly restrained. There's a desperate look in the man's eye and I know that things are not going to go over well. There are more men scattered about, with various weapons and varying degrees of lustful desperation as their eyes flicker between Michonne, Carl, and I.

"Ey, Joe!" shouts the man that holds me. His other hand is restraining me at my chest, he squeezes and a sickening feeling arises in my gut along with the desire to fight back. I try to twist away, but the grip strengthens. Now I can hardly breathe, "This her, the one with the shirt. The one that killed Lou. I can smell 'er." there's a dreadful inhale as he smells me and I'm still trying to wrench myself away.

I can see the expression of realization on Carl's face. But it's different from earlier, now it's twisted and scared as he puts the puzzle pieces together. I can feel Rick and Michonne's eyes on me too, they are either frightened or horrified at this news and I can't tell which. Tears of mixed emotions threaten to form in my eyes. Humiliation, pain, anger. I blink them away.

In the moonlight, I see the man that has the gun pressed against Rick's skull and my gut drops. It's Tennis Ball Bouncer. Back for revenge for me killing his friend. _But why have a gun on Rick, why not me? Unless..._

_Rick is the him. The one they were searching for. Rick. Is. Him._

Joe lets out a sickening cackle, "Well then I reckon you get to have her first." I fight more and then hand on my chest slips to below my belly button, another squeeze. I try and bite the hand and that one moves to my chest. I don't speak though, screaming would be useless. So I just stand there, trying not move. I can't stand the vile feeling on my skin.

"Today's the day of reckoning sir," Joe explains to Rick and I hear the safety click off, "Restitution. Balancing of the whole goddamn universe."

I squirm about as my holder starts to get grabby again.

"Shit, and to think I was turning in for the night on New Year's Eve," Joe chuckles a sick chuckle and my blood boils, "now, who's gonna count down to the ball drop with me? Huh? 10 Mississippi. 9 Mississippi. 8 Mississippi."

"Joe!" A new voice calls, and I manage to crane my neck around. The moonlight illuminates on a figure in a leather vest and a crossbow.

Daryl.

"Hold up," Daryl instructs as he moves closer to us. He looks over at me and I feel shame. I can't look at him, he quickly moves on and takes a look at the others.

Joe glares at Daryl, clearly not pleased, "You're stoppin' me on eight Daryl."

Daryl's in the center of everything, "I said hold up."

A different man with a gun pointed a Rick speaks up, "This is the guy that killed Andy. That girl got Lou. So we got nothin' to talk about."

Joe speaks up, and I must admit he surprises me when he says, "The thing about nowadays is we've got nothin' but time. Say your piece Daryl." I look to Daryl with hope. _I mean he's Daryl Dixon, what the hell can't he do._

"These people, you're gonna let 'em go." Daryl instructs plainly. He stares at Joe. And Joe stares back, "These are good people."

"Now I... I.. I think Andy and Lou would disagree with you on that. I'll of course have to speak for him and all, 'cause your friend here killed him for nothing. That girl strangled Lou in a bathroom."

_Me? Did I __**really**__ do that? _

_Yes. I did, the memory makes my heart feel like lead. I knew it was bad. I shouldn't have killed him. I shouldn't have. _

_Goddammit Karma, you bitch._

I look fearfully at Daryl, wondering what he's gonna do next.

"You want blood," Daryl growls, "I get it." he drops his crossbow, "Take it from me man. Com' on."

Joe is taking on a look of slight distress and disgust, it's obvious he'd taken a liking to Daryl. "These people killed our friends. You say they're good people." he shakes his finger at Daryl, "See that right there i-i-is a lie." his tone darkens as he repeats, "It's a lie!"

A man comes in a takes a hit at Daryl

"No!" shouts Rick. More men come at Daryl, beating him to the ground.

"Teach him fellas, teach him all the way." Joe demands. They push Daryl up against the car and fists go flying and feet launch themselves into Daryl's gut. I hear Daryl's groans and exclamations of pain.

I grab at my captors arms and try to push them away, but he easily grabs both my arms into one hand.

"Shhhhhh," his slimy breath penetrates my nose and makes me wanna squirm more, "We'll have our fun soon enough." My last meal threatens to make an appearance, the idea that man puts in my head. It's enough to make me sick.

I don't verbally protest though, it's what he wants. And frankly, it's pointless. No matter how much I protest or beg for mercy, he'll still do horrible things to me. But tears are still piling up in my eyes, the occasional cry escapes much to my own protest.

My eyes go to Carl and his expression is that of pure terror, the man holding him is whispering in his ear and Carl tries to pull away, escape from the sickness and evil that fuels these men. Carl's face contorts painfully and I just want to help him.

Michonne moves for her sword, "You'll get yours," promises the man with the gun on Michonne. And she freezes.

Over all the rustling and beating of Daryl I manage to hear the eerily calm growl from Rick, "Listen. It was me. It was_ just me_."

"See," Joe exclaims, bending down in Rick's face, "Now that's right. That's not some damn lie."

"Look," Joe explains, "We can settle this, we're reasonable men." I'm taken aback by this statement. _Reasonable? Reasonable?! I'm sorry, weren't you the one's that pressed guns to our heads stating that we were gonna die with no statement otherwise? Yeah. That sounds totally reasonable to me. _

The hand that grabbed below my belly button moves to my throat now, the knife is back. _Ok, maybe I should stop struggling._

"First, we're gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we'll have the girl, then the woman, then the boy." I want to scream, but I know the knife would be in my throat and this would all be over, "Then I'm gonna shoot you and we'll be square," Joe lets out the kind of laugh movie villains used to after they revealed their master plan. That's what this feels like. But it's not a movie. This is real, and I have a difficult time wrapping my head around that concept.

The man holding me pushes me to the ground and I let out a surprised squeal. I hear a thump not too far away and I know they're doing the same to Carl. My eyes find him and he's writhing on the ground trying to escape the sick man's grasp.

I don't have time to think about Carl now, because there's a grown man pretty much sitting on me and trying to do unspeakable things. Choked noises escape my mouth as the man is holding both my arms with the single hand and unbuckling his belt with the other. I'm hyperventilating. I try to roll back and forth, attempting to get him off of me.

I'll be damned if this sicko is the first to get in my pants.

I can't be valiant now, because tears are streaming down my cheeks as I try to fight him off, I can't stop the sobs escaping my mouth as I kick try to fight him off of me. The man is cackling and I wish I could reach my knife.

I hear Carl crying too and my heart breaks in unspeakable ways as my cheeks turn hot, _no. I'm not gonna let this happen. I can't._ But I'm weaker than the man is and I'm wearing out quickly.

My chest is heaving and the tears are starting to cloud my eyes. I can hear Joe laughing in the background, but not over the man on top of me, he's unzipping his pants now. _Oh God. Please God no._

Then I hear a gun, is Rick dead? Michonne? I crane my head to see, because the man on top of me is shocked too. Joe has been thrown back and Rick's on his feet now, he throws a punch at Joe and Joe hits Rick back, knocking him too the ground. A distorted scream escapes my throat, and the man clamps his hand over my throat, he puts pressure on it and gargled noises escape my mouth and I really can't breathe now.

"I got 'em," Joe announces, he kicks fallen Rick in the gut, "Oh it's going to be so much worse now." another kick and Rick groans. It makes me think of Daryl. Is he even still alive?

Carl's cries fill my ears and my eyes go to him, he's clawing for the knife that's just out of reach.

I try to yank my arms free, but the man wrenches me back to a position of tolerance, his hand pulls up from my throat and I take in a ragged breath. He pulls so hard, my shoulder screams. And I let out a bloodcurdling one, black spots dance in my vision and I continue to try and wiggle away.

"Come on," I hear Joe's calls again, "get up. Let's see whatcha got."

Tears stream harder down my cheeks, now with the extra motivation of pain in my shoulder.

Through the murkiness of the tears clouding my vision, my thrashing head catches sight of Carl who's now pinned to the ground on his stomach._ Oh God. Please no. Not Carl. Not my Carl. _How I still manage to think of him while I'm going through my own hell I may never know.

I let out a whimper a midst the sobs and the screams and then there's a cackle from the man on top of me, "You scared honey, this your first time?" my fists clench up in the man's arms.

"What the hell are you gonna do now sport?" I hear the sickening voice of Joe over everything again, I contort my head and look up.

Rick takes a bite out of Joe's neck._ No, I must be mis-seeing things._ I blink hard, thinking my panic has brought on hallucinations. I look again and Rick's spitting out something, Joe falls to the ground letting out horrible choking noises. Blood gushes from his neck. _Oh God. Rick bit Joe. _

_You do what you have to for survival. A whole new meaning._

Everything stops and the man begins to let up. He's in shock of what just happened. I hear a gun shot and decide to take advantage of his stupor. I wrench my hands from the man's grasp and punch him in the face hard. I manage to get to my feet and grab my knife. More gun shots go off. The man pulls me back down, trying to go for a second shot.

_But guess what douche bag, I'm armed now. _

I get onto my knees and my knife sinks into the man's skull, the grip slackens, but I don't let up. I stab him over and over, blood spilling. Brains squelch under my hands. But more sobs of anger escape my mouth and I keep stabbing. I can't hear anything. My ears ring and everything is dulled.

"Fuck you bastard!" I scream at the corpse, "Rot in hell!" I stab and stab, its head is just a pile of oozing mush, the skull pokes out of the broken flesh awkwardly and I stab on. Anger pouring out from my body. "This is for all the shit you did to me!" I'm losing it. I'm going insane. I can't stop myself though, everyone else could be dead for all I know. But I can't. Stop. Stabbing.

Then something from outside of my head gets through. I feel a light touch on my shoulder, I whirl around, knife tightly gripped, I'm poised to kill. It's Daryl. He tells me to let up and I'm amazed I can hear him. My chest shakes wildly, but I drop my knife. My head bows. My nails sink into my bare thighs, as I try to level my head out again. Slow blinks, ragged inhales and exhales. After an unknown amount of time, my attempt at finding serenity is broken.

"I'll kill him," one voice calls over the now silent night. I turn my head. It's that sicko with Carl. The knife's at Carl's throat and his eyes are wide and afraid, "I'll kill him!" I want to launch myself at the rat, no way I'm letting him hurt Carl more than he already has. But my legs are shaking beneath me, I doubt they could hold my weight. I settle for glaring and breathing heavily

"Let the boy go," Michonne demands, her voice shakes with fear and adrenaline and she holds the gun with trembling fingers.

I hear the slash of the knife, my head whirls, it's Rick. He's probably put Joe out of his misery. He stalks over to the man that holds Carl, knife in hand. Blood drenches his beard and the moonlight has a ghoulish effect on Rick that scares _me_, let alone what it must do for the guy that's holding his son. _You better run, bitch. He's gonna get you._

He releases Carl and drops the knife, his hands are held up in a surrender position, "Please-" escapes the man's lips before Rick plunges the knife into his gut. There's no pleading with guys like him. They deserve death. Rick twists the knife and yanks it out of his gut. Then the knife goes into the dying man's throat, and Rick pushes it further and then a little out and then back in. He does this over and over. _Never mess with Rick's son. _

I look over and Michonne is holding Carl. He clings to her dependently, and he gives the man that Rick continues to stab a look that I cannot describe. There's pain and anger and fear all at once and something I cannot begin to discern. Daryl touches my shoulder again, this man and I were never close, our greatest bond was him telling me my father was dead. But even so he tries to comfort me.

But I can't do it, his touch makes me flinch away. _It's just Daryl._ I tell myself, but my body cannot stand the touch anymore, not without tears being brought to my eyes.

Even if the man did not take from me what he intended, he has taken something greater. And for that, I am not sure if I will ever forgive.


	32. Waves

Life is like an ocean. There a waves, and there are high points, generally associated with happiness and good things. And there are low points, which are the not so good things. You never know when your wave will crest and you get something so good you get to ride that baby all the way to shore. But there are other times, when you hit those low points, where you go under, and it's like your drowning, you feel like you'll never emerge from the darkness and pain. Sometimes, you can look out on the ocean and see the big waves coming, the important stuff, or what looks important and scary. And sometimes, by the time they hit you, they aren't as big or as powerful as you feared them to be. They don't really have a long term effect on you. You jump the wave and you move on. But there are other times, when those waves are as big and as bad as you fear. They do make an impact on your life, and sometimes they pull you under and you have to wonder whether you'll ever come back up. These are the things that change you.

Now at this point, you probably think I'm knee deep in some hippie-dippie shit, and I promise I'm not. It's just my many summers spent at the beach have taught me a life lesson or two.

While I love books, and there's absolutely no way for me to deny that- nor would I want to. I also placed my fondest memories in my summers before the world went to shit on the Georgia coastline. I loved boogie-boarding. Now, I'm not gonna lie and say I was some huge, amazing boogie-boarder. Because I wasn't, by no means, I just enjoyed me some Georgia coastline waves. Every summer we would road trip from our north Georgian home down towards Savannah, Georgia, just past that city were several beach towns and beach area. My family had a timeshare on a little beach house down there and we'd spend a week every summer. Basically, it was the highlight of my summer.

My parents first got me on a boogie-board when I was three, and from then on, every summer, my boogie-board and I were inseparable. I'd get up early every morning, eat cereal and then like clockwork I'd be in the ocean at 8 on the dot. I'd boogie-board until noon when my mom would call me in, I'd eat a sandwich, but I couldn't go back into the ocean until one, because of some dumb superstition, I generally swam in the pool we shared with the neighbors of our beach house because apparently that was ok. And then I'd boogie board until the sun went down. Then I'd eat dinner and pass out, because it took a lot of strength to fight the was how it was for the last three or four years I did this, once my parents decided that I could handle myself, which admittedly, was a good feeling. One that I came to assume just a couple months later, when people started to eat people.

Right about now, I feel like I'm being held down with one of those big waves, like I'm drowning and there's no way to get up. I can't look at Carl, he must have seen what I did to that man. But he deserved it, didn't he? For what he was trying to do...

_Carl and I were almost raped._ I think I am going to throw up. That's just something I can't come to terms with, the events of the past hour don't feel like they happened. But I feel it, I still feel violated and my sweat pants with the slashed waistband sit around my ankles to prove it.

Michonne comes to me after a while, she already escorted Carl to the car and now she comes back for me, tears are still slipping silently down my cheeks and my chest is heaving. I can't throw up, I need this food. I instruct myself. She comes over and she gives me a hug, I hug her back and a sob escapes my mouth.

"Shh," her voice is soft and nurturing, "it's alright. It's all going to be alright." she rubs my back and I try to get myself under control. She lets go after a while and says she'll be right back.

She brings me a pair of jeans because these sweat pants are pretty much useless now. I put them on, and then she helps me up. I stumble, my legs are definitely not steady. She helps into the front seat of the car and Carl's in the back. He doesn't look at me, and I can't look at him. I just can't, it's too humiliating after all that's just happened.

Michonne makes sure I'm ok, which really I just nod, I'm not ok, I can't be. There's no way, but I nod anyway. She kisses my forehead and gives me a kind smile. She shuts the door and I lean against it. She opens the back door and sits down, I think we're just kind of getting out of Rick's way. I hear shifting and I move my eyes, but not my head. Carl is resting his head on Michonne's lap and she's stroking his hair. My heart sinks at the effect tonight has had on Carl. _Will we ever be ok?_

I think hysteria claims my mind and I can't hold consciousness anymore, so I somehow manage to sleep. But I do not dream of anything, and I'm glad for that. Finally, some relief.

I wake the next morning and I actually do feel somewhat better. It's not a lot, but it's something. I turn around and Carl's still asleep. Mouth slightly parted, hints of his front teeth are visible. Michonne is still awake, she looks at me with concerned eyes, I still can't talk. I'm not that much better.

"I think we're moving today," Michonne says quietly, only so she doesn't wake Carl. Poor Carl.

I nod, and I catch Michonne eyeing my shoulder, "Did you hurt it again last night?"

The word again makes my stomach twist uncomfortably.

I nod, _honestly, this time it wasn't my fault._

Her jaw tightens, "Once he wakes up I'll look at it, ok?"

I nod.

I turn back around and stare out the windshield. There's a part where it's shattered, but the glass hasn't fallen yet. I find that to be a good visual for how I feel, I'm shattered and broken, but I haven't fallen yet. I won't let myself fall, I can't fall. I have to look strong, I have to try.

Because life comes in waves, and sometimes you have to come out of it, even if it's hard.


	33. Pain and Poison

Pain and poison are such interesting words. You associate pain with poison. I mean, poison isn't frolicking through meadows of bunnies while you run through rainbows on a unicorn. But you don't think of pain as a poison. But it is. Pain gets in your system and it screws you up and sometimes you die with it. You die in pain. You live with pain. It's your choice, and sometimes you can chose, do you want pain, or do you want poison?

Michonne ends up having to wake Carl up, because daylight is wasting and we need to get a move on, Rick thinks we're still a couple days walk from Terminus, and we have to find food. Daryl says there's a place he found with Beth, it's mostly burned down now, but there are still some places around that might have food. Anything, I'll take anything.

I'm already out of the car and have my bag on my shoulder when Carl gets out of the back of the car. I tell myself to look at him, I can't ignore him forever, and even if I could I can't let myself do that.

His head is bowed and he sets the hat on his head so it shields his eyes from the public. His messy, dark brown hair peeks out from the bottom, and it's disheveled, I know it's from sleep, but it makes me think of how disheveled it was last night as it framed his frightened face- _stop Sam. You can't connect everything to last night. He's more than that and so are you, so just get off it!_

I don't know what I was expecting from Carl, at least for him to walk... near me. Or maybe at least look at me, I know it's hard on my part, but hell at least I'm trying to be better. No, we head out on the road and he lurks at the very back, head down, it's like he's had everything that held him together is gone. I walk beside Michonne and from time to time she takes a glance back at Carl to make sure he's still hanging in there.

Rick is at the front, he's still on line of crossing into crazy town, which scares me, a lot. Daryl walks just behind him, crossbow slung across his back. I study it, it bumps as he walks. That's what I focus on. _Keep looking ahead, just keep looking._

But I catch myself looking back, there's Carl, and heat piles up in my chest. It weighs me down and burns me at the same time. I quickly look away. I can't look for long, too much pain all at once.

_You can walk by him Sam, he's still Carl. He still cares about you, you still care about him. Nothing's changed._

_Everything has changed. _

I can't bring myself to walk beside him,_ would he even let me?_ It's hard enough to try looking at him.

_Better Sam, we're trying to be better._

I slow my pace, and Michonne gives me a look, but she stays at her own pace.

Even though I slow down, I still think I'm the same distance from Carl, he's slowed too. He doesn't want to be near me, I get it, it hurts, but I get it. I speed back up, getting into step with Michonne. I'm looking straight ahead, but still the pain lingers. To be away from him is pain, but to be near him is poison. Which do I choose?

"Are you ok?" Michonne asks after a while, her eyes flit back to Carl, suggesting that he's the thing I'm either ok or not ok with.

I shrug, because I'm really not sure.

She looks over her shoulder at Carl, "You know, you should probably go to him. You need each other, especially now. I understand it may be hard. But trust me, it's for the best."

I look at her, and then at the ground, and then at Carl. There's the pain again, it burns my soul, and spreads to my chest.

_Do it, Sam. Just do it. You don't have to talk. Just... be there._

I take a deep breath and I basically stop walking, letting Carl catch up to me. And he does, eventually. He says nothing, he doesn't even look up, I walk in pace with him, which is unbelievably slow.

He doesn't protest and I swear his shoulders are a little less slouched. I feel the poison coursing through my blood now. It's like lead and it makes my body a thousand times heavier. It makes each breath harder to take and each blink harder to make. It's certainly not better than the pain, but I'd rather go about it this way. Michonne's right, we need to be there for each other, even when we're weak- especially when we're weak. We get what each other is going through, we shared that experience, even if it wasn't good.

I start to move my hand towards him, until it's about 6 inches from his and the poison is too much and I quickly pull it away. _I'm not there yet, baby steps, baby steps._

We make it to the pile of ash that night. Daryl says it used to be a moonshiner's shack, but he and Beth... they burned it down? Or at least that's what he told me... We find a small house not too far away. The adults clear it for walkers while Carl and I are told to wait outside, I admit I don't particularly care for this plan, I don't dispute. I'm still not talking. We sit on the porch, him still not looking up, and me looking ahead, because the looks I give him are still at the stolen stage. There's about a foot of space in between us, and I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that's not how it's supposed to be with boyfriends and girlfriends. I try to scoot closer and my throat starts to close up. _Nope. Nope. I'll deal with my share of poison right here_. Bored, I sit with my elbows resting on my thighs and chin resting on my palms. I let out a sigh, my eyes drift over to see if he's changed. Nothing.

The adults reappear a few minutes later, saying the house is now cleared, and we're in luck, there's food.

The kitchen has 4 cans of various vegetables and there's a cup of ramen noodles that just needs boiling water. The house has 3 cases of bottled water. The people that lived here before, they must've been like super athletic or super water freaks, or something. The natural gas still works and Michonne grabs a pot from the cabinets, we boil one of the bottles and pour it on the ramen. Everyone takes a can, but I'm lucky, I get the ramen.

We eat in the living room of the house, I sit cross-legged in an over-sized recliner, Rick and Michonne sit on opposite sides of a couch, Daryl sits on a smaller couch, his feet propped up on the arm of the sofa, and Carl sits on the ground, back propped against the wall, legs in front of him. He could have sat by me, this chair is huge, easily roomy enough for two lean people such as Carl and me. But no, he walks the lonely road.

I catch him giving longing looks at my ramen, and the fact that he's actually looking up is promising. It makes my skin prickle with hope, and I feel myself get up and the pain in my chest leaks out into poison as I make my way over to him. I make myself sit down so our hips and shoulders are touching. My stomach has tensed up. _No. No throwing up now. You be a good girl. You're doing so well_. Carl's body is just as tensed to the sensation of us touching. I look at him and he has his teeth grit, but the look in his eyes tells me he doesn't want this pain. He wants to be with me. And I understand this sensation, I understand the pain and the poison. And in that moment I know he feels it too.

But which do we choose?

I don't know, I just hope we choose together.


	34. Afraid

Everyone feels afraid sometimes, afraid to speak up, afraid to act out. Fear keeps us alive, but it doesn't control us. It does nasty things when it does. It's ok to be afraid, but you have to know when it's time to move past those fears, because it might be for the best.

I lift a forkful of ramen towards him, offering a bite. He nods and trades me his can of cooked carrots. I take a bite, and give him back his can. I hate cooked carrots. I wince slightly as I swallow, and I think I catch Carl biting back a chuckle. He hands me my ramen and one of the noodles hangs out of the side of his mouth. I feel my first smile since the_ incident _spread across my face. I point to the noodle and he slurps it into his mouth. There's a warm sensation that spreads throughout my body, but this one doesn't burn, which is nice. He looks at me now, and it's like he can't look away, which makes me look down, because it's hard for me to hold his gaze. _You wanted this, kid. Time to own up._

I see it, out of the corner of my eye, Carl's hand is moving towards mine. He's recovering quickly, quicker than I am at least. I guess all that time in his head has really given him some time to work things out. My heart pounds in my chest, _do it. Don't flinch. Just let it roll._ I feel his fingers slip between mine and I can't concentrate on my food anymore. He squeezes my hand and I can feel him looking at me._ Look back! _But I can't, I just stare at my ramen.

"Sam," he speaks for the first time and my throat tightens,_ I'm not ready for this. Why did I try, I can't do this_. I have to force air in and out of my lungs.

_Please don't notice. _

"Sam," his voice firms up.

_Inhale, exhale._

_Inhale, exhale._

_It's just Carl, it's only Carl._

_Inhale, exhale._

_Inhale, exhale._

"Sam," his other hand moves to my chin, moving my head so I have to look at him, "please, Sam." his bright blue eyes are intense on me, they plead for me to look at them longer, but I can't. I look down, and Carl lets go of my chin. But he continues to hold my hand. _I can't do both at once, look and touch, one thing at a time._

He doesn't push me further, that's what I like about Carl. The pressure of his hand is comforting and killing at the same time. I miss this feeling, I like holding Carl's hand, I like being with him, it's just hard now. I don't want it like this though. Especially now that he's come around, I don't want to be the problem. I want to lean on him and hold his hand, I _really_ want to kiss him- but I doubt I'll be able to handle that any time soon, unfortunately.

My body starts to calm down after a while and I don't feel like puking when he holds my hand, which is nice. I finish off my ramen and all there's left to do is sleep. Daryl says he's staying put, Rick and Michonne push the couch in front of the door, and any other doors leading to the outside are locked. Michonne takes one of the bedrooms down the hall, Rick another, there's one bedroom left. I feel Carl looking at me, silently asking._ Damn, that kid is making a comeback._ Or maybe he sees me trying and wants to try back. Either option is nice.

_Goddammit. Do it, Sam. Just go._

I nod at him and we make our way to the third bedroom. In his hand that's not occupied with mine is a flashlight. He shines it into the room so we can see properly.

There's a full bed, pushed against a wall. I always take that side, so I do now. I let go of Carl's hand and climb onto the bed, untying my Docs. _Nothing has changed_, I try to convince myself.

_Everything has changed. _

My body tenses up as Carl sits down, he sets his hat on the ground, and looks at me. He's struggling too. His eyes display a thousand different emotions, pain, wanting, fear, determination. I can only imagine what I look like, probably some frightened woodland creature.

_Maybe we shouldn't do this, maybe we're moving too fast. Baby steps, right?_

_No. If he's in you're in. Don't be such a pansy_.

Carl turns away, he appears to be considering getting up.

"Thank you for trying," my first words pass my lips, he turns around, surprised for multiple reasons.

He stares at me, and I stare back. _Come on, you've started, can't stop now_, "What else was I gonna do?" he asks me, his hand finds mine. I'm starting to tense up again. _Looking, touching, and talking? Can I do it?_

"I... I'm not sure, I'm just glad you did." _ok, maybe not the most intellectual, sense-making thing I've ever said. But it's a start._

"Sam, I care about you, and I care about us, I'm not gonna let something like... _that_ ruin us. Trying is the only option we've got." he explains. I manage to nod. He smiles, and his thumb rubs the skin in between my thumb and index finger. _Yes, I like this. I like this a lot._

My eyes move around the room, taking in my surroundings beyond the bed. It's a little hard to make out at first, but then I see details. There's a dresser with a mirror that's covered in a thick layer of dust. We should search that for clothes. There's a door, which either leads to a closet or a bathroom, but I'm betting on closet. There's also a desk, papers cover it and the surrounding floor, there's a lamp and several knickknacks on display. Beside that is a wooden bookcase.

Old habits kick in with old desires that fire up in my heart. I let go of Carl's hand, steal the flashlight from his other hand and push off of the bed, I walk over in my sock feet and examine the bookcase. I put my hands on my knees and twist my mouth, reading spines and making considerations. I hear footsteps come up behind me, then I can feel his presence.

I start to grab for a book entitled _13 Reasons Why_. I read the back of the book and Carl takes the book from my hand and puts it back, I look back and him and his nose is crinkled up, "Gross. It sounds so girly. Come on, pick something we'd both like." his tone is light, and I like that. _We can tease, we'll be ok._ I roll my eyes, but start my search again. _So this a team effort now? Jeez Grimes, you're so needy._

I pick up another book, it's a white paperback with blue stripes on the cover, the stripes actually make up the shape of a man's upper body. It's called _White Time_.

We read the back of the book, only I finish before he does, because I'm a faster reader.

"Alright, let's read it," Carl decides, I look up at him.

I narrow my eyes slightly, "I'm the one doing the actual reading, aren't I?" I lift a wary eyebrow.

Carl grins, "Yup," he grabs my hand and we go back to the bed. I prop my back up on the wall, and Carl lies on his stomach, facing me, he rests his face in his hands and he watches me read. His legs are bent and his feet are in the air. I try to focus on the book and not him, because while our natural easiness is coming back, there's still a tenseness in my shoulders and arms that I just can't shake. If I look at him, hidden behind the eagerness in his eyes is still some tension and fear.

It's an... Interesting book to say the least. It's more a collection of short stories than one big story with one plot. The kind I like. But Carl seems to enjoy himself, so that's enough for me. By the time I close the book, his chin is resting on the bed and his eyes blink slowly, he's cute when he's tired.

"Hey," I say, he stirs and he blinks quickly, eyes focused on me.

"Mmm?" he mumbles sleepily, he rubs his eyes and yawns.

"Bed time," I tell him, I toss the book off the bed and click off the flashlight. Carl army crawls up the bed and he takes the flashlight from me. He sets it on the ground and he looks at me expectantly. I grit my teeth, _no, I'm not there yet. We've gotten far today, definitely further than I expected. Don't get me wrong, that's great, it's just, I'm not ready._

I don't look at him as I scoot over towards the wall. I turn my back to him. I don't wanna see his face, I don't think I could bear it.

There's the pain again, drowning my heart in its sorrows.

I squint my eyes shut, I can feel him looking at me. I squint so hard I can see stars dancing in my vision. Then I hear him turn over. Thank God he doesn't press it, or ask why I won't sleep next to him like that. Maybe he realized he's not ready for it either. I kind of hope so. _He probably isn't_. I convince myself. _It's ok_.

I come to the shocking realization that I'm really not tired. I flash my eyes open and stare at the wall in near darkness. The longer I stare the clearer it becomes, my eyes adjusting to the lack of light. I turn over and Carl's asleep. I watch his side rise and fall to the rhythm of his even breathing. I could reach out and touch his back if I wanted to. Instead I keep my hand at my side. It's easier to look now, in the dark, when he's asleep.

_God, I'm creepy._

_I didn't watch you sleep, I was present while you were unconscious. _

I turn back over, _what the hell is wrong with me? _

I try shutting my eyes again, this time with much more success. I am asleep within a few minutes.

I wake up the next morning with sunlight streaming through a large window that faces the bed. The light is harsh on my sleepy eyes. Darkness, yes, darkness is good. I close my eyes again, and then I realize there's a foreign weight on my abdomen. I let out a groan and roll over. I hit something. Or should I say someone. My eyes shoot open and I'm nose to nose with sleepy Carl and his arm is still thrown across my side.

He lets out the kind of half snore you give when you are woken sudden, his eyes blink open and he throws himself back, totally off guard. His eyes are wide and scared, but I'm not sure who they're scared for.

I just lie there, totally in shock. _Please don't tell me he thinks this was me. Trying to be extra close. Creepy close._

_Oh God. He hates me._

_He totally hates me._

_Goddammit Sam, if only you've moved sooner!_

"Uhhhhh," is all that comes out of my mouth, and I can't look again.

He sits up and blinks again, trying to wake up I guess.

"I didn't mean... rolled wrong..." my cheeks are fiery red with blush. My eyes dart nervously, but they keep managing to hit him.

Carl cracks a smile and shakes his head. From a first look, I'd say he's doing much better this morning.

"Come on, they're probably waiting on us, we slept in," Carl nods his head towards the door and I push myself into a sitting position and crawl off the bed. He helps me to my feet. He doesn't let go of one of my hands and he bends down to pick up his hat. He puts it on and we walk back into the living room. He seems fine, but he could be hiding it, he would do that. Oh Carl. My sweet Carl.

"If something feels wrong, don't do it," I tell him as we walk

He stops dead in his tracks and stares at me like I've grown a second head, "What."

I blink with confusion, taken aback with the sudden aggression in his tone, I stammer for a moment, trying to collect myself, "I just meant, if you're uncomfortable with being near me or whatever, then you don't have to push yourself for me or anything dumb like that. Only do what you're comfortable with. I'm not worth pushing yourself too far." I tighten the corners of my mouth and then bite down awkwardly on my lips.

Carl grinds his teeth for a moment and then looks at me and says, "You are, but I'm not." then he turns and we continue on like nothing happened. We walk into the living room and all the adults are standing, shit, they've been waiting on us. Daryl whistles, Carl glares and I blush. It feels like we're back to normal. And now I'm not afraid.


	35. Shadows

Shadows are everywhere, they reflect us, they cannot do anything but that. Shadows do not act on their own, they only show what we've done and what we do. The past and the present, but never the future, we create those ourselves. We create other shadows of the same significance, when you leave stuff behind. They are shadows of what you've done, and some of us leave more shadows than others.

I pick up my bag and find it drastically heavier than it was when I set it down last night, "What the hell is in here?" I groan, and only after I get a couple stares from the adults do I realize my choice in words is poor. I look at the ground as I shoulder my pack. Or maybe it's the shock that I'm speaking, either way, it makes me uncomfortable.

"We split up the water bottles we had left," Michonne explains

"Oh," I tighten my lips, "I was going to clear out the room Carl and I were staying in, if that's ok with everyone." I extend my thumb over my shoulder.

Michonne nods, her expression reveals the relief hidden behind her eyes, "Just try to keep it short, ok?"

I nod back and turn, walking back to the room. I go through the dresser and I find several clothing items that are of use to me. I stuff them all in my bag and then I go over to the bookcase. I grab _13 Reasons Why_.

T_ake that sheriff. I do what I want_. I also grab a couple other paperbacks with titles I have yet to read. I'm out in five minutes flat.

"Ready girly?" Daryl looks at me expectantly, there's a teasing tone in his voice. It feels foreign directed at me, but I nod anyways.

So we head out, we're headed back to the tracks, with no other real lead.

The trees clump close to the tracks here, so we either walk single file or shoulder to shoulder. Only Carl and I choose the latter as we linger in the back, shoulders bumping, fingers intertwined. Sometimes if I'm not careful, I'll try dodging an overgrown limb and smack my head against the brim of his stupid hat.

"Hey!" Carl protests, this must the third time I've accidently smacked his hat, "You're screwing with my look, bookworm!" he's only teasing, but it's true when I accidently bump my head, the hat gets tilted and screws with his thick mess of brown hair.

I roll my eyes, "Bookworm?" I question. He gives me a sly grin. I twist up my mouth. I remove his hat, scruff up his hair and set it back on his head, grinning like a fool. He glares at me, which only makes me grin wider. Yes, this is what it used to be like, I like this. Don't screw things up now, Sam.

"Bookworm," I scoff, chuckling slightly.

"What?" Carl protests, off of his little hair fit, "I think it's cute, suits you."

I cast a look of mild annoyance at him, he chuckles, a smirk curls up on one side of his face, "I'm sure, _sheriff_." I roll my eyes dramatically, emphasizing the name I mainly refer to him in my head with…

We continue walking until some of the vegetation retreats, letting us spread out some. Something catches Daryl's eye and he starts looking around at the ground, and at the leaves, it's almost like… he's tracking, he waves his finger around a fallen tree and a bunch of footprints, "People 've been 'round here. Went that way." He nods ahead, then he takes the lead, and we all watch him with intrigue.

"You think it's some of our people?" I look at Carl hopefully.

Carl tightens his jaw, "I dunno."

I want to believe, that these are the tracks of our people, and that we'll find them, so we can all be whole again. I want to be whole again.

"Look at that," Daryl stops, pointing a track on the ground, "Them's kid's shoes. Cowboy boots by the look a 'em."

_Lizzie had boots like that… _

"Just one set of tracks?" Rick speaks up. Carl and I look at each other dubiously.

"Nah, nah," Daryl shakes his head, "I'd noticed the two other tracks, a man and woman, judgin' by the feet. But the kid, I guess that sparked a real point of interest." He squints his eyes and follows the tracks further, "There's two kids that were here. They 'ere with the man and the woman, travellin' a group, family maybe."

"Could it be some of our people?" Michonne speaks the question on my mind.

Daryl shrugs, "Could be, could be anyone though. Ain't no guarantee they're ours."

The reek of walker fills my nose, I look ahead and I find the source, there's a crushed walker that lies dead- for real dead, like someone got it in the brain like you're supposed to.

I frown. No, these couldn't have been Lizzie's tracks, whoever passed by here took out that walker and Lizzie would've thrown an absolute fit over killing the walker. She was strange that way.

My stomach wrenches with regret, how dare I hope, only to have it torn apart in front of me like a walker does to your friends and family.

We follow the tracks past the former walker, there's a lot of tracks around that area, which makes Daryl think it wasn't just passed by once. The tracks that Daryl believes are a child's are muddled because they have been run over a couple times. They trace back to a spot where the vegetation separates, Daryl peels it back and lets everyone go through. We walk through vegetation for a while, pressing it back so branches don't smack us in the face. Then we get past it and we've opened up to a nice little grove.

Trees surrounding a near clearing, a couple trees around here and there. There's a house in the distance, and maybe a barn, where supplies and animals used to make their domain. Beyond the house is a place where the setting sun glows upon nicely. The tracks lead up to the house and then all around, yes people were here, and they came out. There's a barb wire fence surrounding it. Looks like a nice place to hole up for the night if you ask me.

I look around more and I see the bodies of walkers laying around. Echoes of the past, shadows of the events that took place here. There's one that hangs dead, partially inside the fence, like it was trying to get at one of the house's residents. I guess they got away. More walkers lie past that, remnants of a battle fought, one side armed with teeth and hunger, the other side armed with hunger and bullets. I squeeze Carl's hand he squeezes back. I stand close to him now and I'm relieved my throat doesn't close up or my body is a ridiculous kind of tense.

Rick grabs a stake that holds the fence up, he moves it away from another stake and room opens up so we can walk the inner yard. There isn't any sign of life in the house, whoever was here before isn't here now. Any hope of finding our people diminishes and my heart sinks. We walk towards the house and then that's when I notice them.

The graves. There are four. I walk up to them and stop. Carl comes with me, but the adults move on, saying they're going to make sure the house is clear. Two graves have crosses as headstones , but one has brass baby shoes hanging off. That grave is small, very small. Judith small. But I know it's not Judith because Judith died at the prison, right? The other two graves are different from the first. The dirt mound over them is distinctly fresher, and they are bigger. Not adult big, no they were not given that grace. These are the graves of children. Younger than me I'd say, because I'm not a particularly tall teenager.

Carl stammers for a moment, "These… these are…"

"Kids graves," I swallow roughly, my breathing waivers for a second, "I certainly wouldn't fit in a grave that size."

Carl's head snaps towards me, "Don't say things like that."

"I just-"

He interrupts me, "Just don't." his tone is final and I let it drop.

"Com' on," Daryl waves us towards the house, "House is clear, iz gettin' dark, don't wanna be out here when them walkers come out." So we hustle inside. It's a cozy house the living room and the kitchen melt together, there's a wooden table and chairs in between the two rooms. There's a crib pressed against a wall next to a brown couch covered in dusty pillows. There's a coffee table in front of the couch and then next to that is a recliner. They all face a fireplace that I'm sure will glow warm light soon, especially on a night like tonight.

Pecan shells litter the table, and an abandoned nut cracker lies with it. A lantern sits at the end of the table, anxiously waiting to bring light again. There's a doll left on the floor, my heart catches in my throat. I press my shoulder against Carl's; his head rests against mine in a comforting gesture. And I feel the tension in my chest for the first time all day. _Goddammit! You were doing so well!_ I don't move though, this how I get past the tension, by pushing myself, not a lot, just enough.

We build a fire up in the fireplace and light up the lamp, Michonne finds a kettle on the stove and boils some water. There's some canned goods stored in a pantry and we eat that night. The meal is warm and so is the fire.

Carl and I sit on the ground, knees touching, right in front of the fire, absorbing the heat it gives off. Michonne and Rick sit at the table, eating and discussing the 'game plan'. Daryl sits in the recliner with aggressively poor posture, eating his share of the dinner, utterly not giving a shit.

"Who do you think was here before?" I ask Carl as I finish up my green peas.

I shrugs, "They're probably dead now, whoever they were."

I frown, why does he always have such a tendency to immediately go to the pessimistic side, "You don't know that." My tone is weak and it ekes out sliver of hope.

"I bet those tracks of those kids, those are the fresh graves we saw. The doll? It makes sense, the kids died, the adults left. The adults are probably dead now too," Carl shrugs. The depressing thing is, it makes sense. _Why didn't I piece that together? "_I think you're rubbing off on me." Carl jokes. No, he doesn't need me, he's deductive enough on his own.

"Don't matter who was here 'fore. They gone now. We gotta focus on us. I'm gonna go huntin' in the mornin'. Seen some deer 'round, figured I tried 'n catch us some. Some fresh venison 'd be nice." Daryl says, his focus starts on me, but its direction moves to the whole group the longer he goes on.

"Sounds good," Rick nods, "Doors are locked, and I closed the fence back up. I think it's best we all got some rest, we'll probably stay here tomorra. Ain't a point in wasting such a good place."

I swallow my last bite of peas, "But we're still headed to Terminus, right?"

Rick looks at me and inclines his head, "'Course, but it don't hurt to take a day to collect ourselves."

Daryl has his eyes narrowed, then they go to the area rug, "There's somethin' y'all should know."

We all turn our heads to Daryl, "What is it?" Rick is the one to speak, of course he is, Rick is always the voice of the body.

"When I was with Joe and them, they said somethin' 'bout Terminus bein' a lie. And it ain't what they say. Now I know it sounds good and ever'thin', and it's our best shot at findin' the others, but I think we should be car'ful once we start to get close. Stake the place out, make sure it's legit. You got me?"

_I gotchu._

Rick nods for us, and we carry on. I set down my bowl and I stretch out on my back, I stare at the ceiling, Carl joins me in the passivity of watching the fire create dancing shadows. Shadows, I see shadows everywhere. From the walls to the table to the corpses that no longer grown. Shadows are everywhere, whether you're looking or not.


	36. Home

Home. It's one of the most comforting words at least I can think of. It's one of the first words we really learn to recognize. It's where we feel safe and well, at home. Everyone has an image as to what they think of home as. And for me it's before the apocalypse when my family was whole and life was good in a cozy home. I had my own room, with my soft bed and my books. I long for home those nights I sleep under the stars, back aching against the cold dirt. I miss home and the sense of serenity it brought me.

I end up falling asleep on the area rug in that living room. I'm awoken the next morning by stirring all around me. I blink my eyes open and sit up, looking around. The fire went out a while ago. It's real early, the sun hasn't even begun it's journey through the sky. It takes me a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A figure moves towards the door. It's Daryl, he's leaving to go hunt. His crossbow is at his side, he opens the door and then shuts it carefully. I consider lying back down and going back to sleep, but I soon deem it's useless and I push myself to my feet.

My shoulder gives a dull ache, but the pain isn't sharp when I move, so that's good. I look behind me, Carl fell asleep here too. A small smile forms on my face, he's deep asleep, one arm twisted back, hand resting by his head, the other lays across his stomach. His hat is tipped over his face, obscuring his eyes and much of his nose. I shake my head, with a half grin and walk into the kitchen. There isn't much here, but I bet I could collect some pecans, use the nutcracker, yeah that would work. No one else is up yet, and I don't wanna wake anyone, so I just make sure it's easy to access my knife, I grab a pail, and head outside.

The early morning air is cool on my cheeks and a breeze blows the hairs that stray from my braid back. I push my beanie further on my head, trying to keep my ears warm. I walk out towards an area where the tree branches hang low. I start picking pecans and tossing them in the bucket. The sun begins to rise and a ray of sunlight casts itself on the clearing not too far away. I make my way over there, because I've gotten what pecans I can from these branches. The sunlight warms my back and I go back to picking pecans.

The sun's all the way up now, the others are probably awake. I should probably get back, don't want them to worry. So I start heading back when I notice some flowers, they're dying now, wilting. Its yellow not as distinct as it used to be. I stop at look at them for a moment, they're still nice. Like a friendly reminder there is still beauty, and then a cruel reminder that beauty dies. Something catches my eye, all the color leaves my face and I stand there slack-jawed. Blood tinges some of the flowers, crimson on yellow. I clutch the pail in my arms. _Turn around right now, young lady. Don't look, don't look._ I turn stiffly on my heels and walk back. There's something wrong with this place, something very wrong happened here.

I walk as quickly as my stiff legs will let me up to the house. As I walk up, I hear laughing, I open the door and Carl and Michonne are having a conversation about the over-sized shirt she's wearing.

"Hey," Carl looks over at me, "there you are! Where were you?"

I lift the bucket of pecans in response, my mouth too dry to answer. Carl's expression intensifies as he looks at me, "Is everything alright. Did you run into anything?" his eyes narrow and he steps towards me, Michonne tilts her head with interest.

"No," I shake my head, "everything's fine." I fake a smile. Carl's hand rests gently on my arm and he still looks unconvinced.

I shake my head slightly, shaking myself out from my trance, "Come on," I grab his hand, "I can't crack all these pecans myself."

I set the pail on the table, brushing off the broken shells from before into my hand. I toss them into an abandoned trash can. _There buddy, there's some garbage for you to love. _

_What the hell am I doing with my life._

I grab a bowl from a cabinet and then sit down next to Carl, he's already cracked a couple open. He drops the nuts in the bowl and continues, leaving the shells on the table. I get up and find another nutcracker in a utensils drawer. I plop down next to him and we crack pecans and don't really talk much. He just grins at me and I smile back, because when he smiles it's kinda hard not to, and I don't want him to think I'm bothered by anything.

Michonne comes over, her shirt is tied back now so it's more fitting, she sits in the other seat next to me, "You know, it wasn't too smart, going out on your own like that." her tone is vaguely scolding, and I lower my head for a moment.

"Sorry," I make myself pick up my head, "I just woke up really early and figured picking pecans was a helpful way to kill time."

Michonne nods in understanding, "Just don't do it again, ok? It's a dangerous world out there."

I consider protesting, _I had my knife!_ But it won't do me any good, so I just grab another pecan and crack it. Michonne smacks the table suddenly, my shoulders jolt and I look over at her, Carl does the same, "I know what we can do with these." she smiles, exposing her bright teeth.

"What?" Carl's brow furrows with interest, he cocks his head and his face looks remotely of that to a puppy dog's and I'm sorry, it's adorable.

Michonne stands up and goes digging through the pantry, she finds a bag of sugar, she pulls it out and sets it on the table, she then goes through the kitchen tools until she finds a baking pan. I look at the pecans, then the pan, then the sugar, then the natural gas oven.

"Candied pecans?" I ask

Michonne grins at me, "Good job, you pick up quickly. Have you ever made them?" she lifts a dark eyebrow at me

I shake my head, shrugging, "It just made sense."

"I made them once with-" she catches herself and looks down, her lips draw to a thin line, "Never mind, just... I've made them. Now, Carl you finish shelling them, Sam, you dunk the shelled pecans in the sugar and then place them on this tray. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," Carl says with a mocking tone, but he goes back to shelling anyways. I start doing as per Michonne's instructions and Michonne gets the oven to warm up. Once we're done, I take the tray over to Michonne and she pops it in the oven. I turn around to walk back to the table, and I notice Rick in the entryway to the living room. He nods at Carl and I as he walks past, we keep walking back to the table. I put a hand on the chair, so I can pull it back to sit in, when Rick speaks up.

"Why don't you kids go into another room for a minute, find a real room to sleep," Rick nods his head towards the entryway from which he came. Carl and I exchange glances, then he shrugs and we go find a bedroom. I pick up my bag on the way, I really could stand to change clothes, Carl does the same. We find a bedroom at the end of the hall that doesn't appear to be occupied. It's a similar style to the rest of the house as far as I've seen. Very old fashioned and country. The bed frame is wooden with a headrest and a foot rest. Carl tosses his bag on the bed and I excuse myself to go find a bathroom.

I shut the door behind me and walk down the hall. There's one two doors down on the left, I set my bag down on the sink area, I pull the braid out of my hair and take off my beanie. I take a look in the mirror and shut the door. My face is covered in dirt and there's a faint scratch on my cheek. It bled at one point, but it's closed up now. My hair is beyond greasy, and it's clumped together with tangles and grease. My jacket is as ragged as ever and it's got grass and dirt stains on it now along with the blood stains. I pull it off, careful around my left shoulder. We're here for a day, maybe I can clean it up some. My next layer is the flannel shirt, it's dirty too. Well really, if I'm wearing it, it's got some dirt on it and reeks of B.O., lack of bathing, it'll do that. My flannel sleeves aren't rolled up and the undone cuffs hang past my fingertips, the shirt is tucked in loosely to my jeans, but is as baggy as ever. There's blood staining the left shoulder from times I haven't been so careful, I remove that too. I also take off the long sleeve shirt and the sweat stained tank top.

Now all I'm left with is my exposed torso, I don't like it. My ribs are too prominent, and there's the bandage on my shoulder, a constant reminder. I just generally don't favor my figure. I look down at my bag and dig through the clothes I found yesterday. I find a soft, dark green t-shirt and slip it over my head, it actually fits me, which is nice for once. I grab a denim button down shirt with long sleeves. It's a little loose, but not to the point where it will never fit. I find this soft fleecy vest thing that zips and has pockets, I slip that on too. God it's soft. I also change out my ripped jeans for a pair of whitewashed ones. I put my hair in a low side ponytail and stick my beanie over it, in hopes of minimizing the disgusting appearance. I push my old clothes back into the bag and zip it up. I shoulder the pack and walk back towards the room Carl and I are staying in.

I open up the door to find Carl still changing, he's wearing cargo pants and his mismatching shoes poke out from under the pants, that are a little on the long side. But he's not wearing a shirt. I stand there, paralyzed, hand still on the door knob, unable to even move my eyes, my mouth is slightly open. Do I shut the door and give him privacy, do I stay? My heart thumps nervously in my chest. His back is turned to me, he might even not know I'm here. Something between an 'um' and a cough escapes my mouth. Carl turns around quickly, and I catch a glimpse at the shot wound again. I don't feel the usual pain or tension in my chest that I've almost become accustomed to these days.

"Nice back," I comment, remembering what he said when he watched me change. _Lucky duck, he's wearing pants. I mean, unlucky for me._

_Wait, what? _

_I did not just think that!_

_Sam! _

He rolls his eyes and continues about his business. Just as he turns around, I catch the red in his cheeks come out, and I laugh a little.

"You like this?" he turns around so I can see him completely without his shirt. There's a t-shirt balled up in his hand. Whatever he was going for, isn't really working, because he's blushing a lot. I bite my bottom lip a little, trying to contain more laughter.

_Yes, I like it a lot. Thanks for asking. I could live with shirtless Carl._

I meekly shrug, "Meh."

He deadpans and rolls his eyes again. I smirk so he knows I'm teasing, he shakes his head and puts his shirt on. It takes me a moment to realize it's color, dark green. I look at him, then down at _my_ dark green t-shirt. _Was this planned? I certainly think not..._

I look at him and shrug, "I wear it better." Carl chuckles and nods with too much enthusiasm for it to be simple agreement. I raise my eyebrows at him, popping a hip and stuffing my hands in the pockets of my fluffy vest, I give him a look that says 'what did you say'. This makes him blush more. He puts on his hoodie, and then his hat. I look around the room, pretty simple layout, bed, nightstand, dresser, and my personal favorite, bookshelf.

"Home sweet home, huh?" Carl looks around and then back at me

"We're only here for a day," I remind him, I don't want to get settled in here. Bad things have happened here, very bad things.

Carl narrows his eyes slightly, trying to understand my apprehension, "I mean, Daryl said Terminus was bad news, maybe this place-"

"Daryl heard that from Joe's group Carl, you know the people that tried to rape us!" I spit out, my heart sinks and instantly regret at what I've said. _Why did I bring that up? Stupid Sam, stupid, stupid Sam._

Carl falters for a moment, then he shakes his head, "Come on, let's get back. Bet the pecans are almost done anyway." he grinds his jaw and walks past me, he balls his hands up into fists and then uncurls them. The process repeats and I walk behind him warily. _Goddammit Sam! You had to open your big mouth!_

Carl sits down at the table, it's clear he's trying to calm down.

"Carl," I sit down next to him, speaking quietly, I don't want to alarm Rick and Michonne, "I didn't mean-"

"I know," he blinks hard, but he doesn't look at me, "I.. just... give me a minute, ok?" he sounds frantic. I start to reach for him and he flinches away, shaking his head, "A minute." he repeats. I nod and look away.

I fiddle with my thumbs under the table, _why did I say that? Why? Why? Why?_

"Hey kids," Michonne speaks up, there's a cautious tone in her voice, she can definitely tell something's not quite right, "I think the pecans are ready." I hear the oven creak open and I look up, turning around. My eyes flit to Carl, he looks mostly better, but that could be a lie for Michonne.

"They look good." Michonne looks over at us, trying to bait us. _Very sneaky Michonne, but your sugary temptations won't work on us!_

_Oh who am I kidding_. I get up and walk to the tray that Michonne set on top of the oven.

"Careful, they're hot," Michonne warns

I pull my hand back and I hear Carl's footsteps behind me.

"Smells like home," Carl mumbles

"You really remember what your home smelled like?" I turn around._ I feel like I'm asking a dumb question._

_Definitely asking a dumb question._

"No," he shakes his head, "But I'm gonna pretend it did. Because I like it."

"Do you miss your home?" I ask him, I reach for a pecan, it's warm, but not too hot.

Carl swallows anxiously, "Yeah. You?" he doesn't elaborate, but that's ok, I don't know if I could either. Maybe someday, when we don't have anyone else around.

"Yeah," I nod, "But I've found a new one since then. I found the prison, and I still think I'll find another. I don't think the place matters for a home, I just think it's the people you're with."


	37. Holes

There are holes everywhere. They ruin the wholeness of things and are on the whole not a good thing. People can create these holes, but they can just as easily be repaired. The important thing is to try and not give up hope.

Daryl makes it back much sooner than expected, dragging a deer, with several squirrels hanging from his belt. We decide to hold off eating until we can cook some of the fresh meat up. I offer to help Daryl skin some of the squirrels, to which he chuckles, "Ever skinned a critter 'fore girly?"

_Um, well you see. I'm hungry, and I figure, I can't be that bad..._ I hadn't exactly _had_ to before, but I figured I needed to know, it's a survival skill.

"Sure," I shrug

Daryl narrows his eyes slightly, considering things for a moment. Finally he pops an eyebrow up and tosses me a squirrel, "Try not to hurt yourself."

I stand a little taller, proud that I managed to convince Daryl Dixon, squirrel king, to let me skin a squirrel.

I look at the squirrel in my hands, brown gray fur, dead beady eyes, warm body growing colder by the second, limp, flimsy body sagging in my grasp.

_Cute, little squirrel... _

_Nice squirrel dinner..._

_Oh God, what have I gotten myself into._

I swallow hard, and try not to let my discomfort show. I follow Daryl outside and I watch him as he cuts into his own squirrel. He makes a cut near the base of the tail on the belly side, I pull out my knife and mimic him, trying not to look over and make it obvious I'm just copying what he does. I keep my head angled at the squirrel and watch Daryl out of the corner of my eye. He makes more cuts around its hind leg. He grabs the tail of the squirrel in one hand, he uses his other hand, working his fingers under the skin of the squirrel, trying to separate the meat of the squirrel from the skin. My eyes go to my own squirrel, I copy the cuts he made, careful not to cut too deep. I gulp as I work my fingers under the skin of the squirrel, the fleshy feel of the meat under my fingers is uncomfortable. _Quit being so squeamish! Honestly!_ I manage to work the skin away and I flit my eyes over to Daryl for the next step.

He kicks leaves away from the ground and lays the squirrel, belly up on the ground. He places his heel near the base of the squirrel's tail. He pulls the squirrel by it's hind legs, and in one swift motion the skin is ripped off. He works the skin off of it's front legs, and then continues to pull up until he's at the squirrel's neck. I quickly copy, though my hands are slightly bloodier than his. In a final step Daryl takes his knife and cuts off the head of the squirrel, along with it's arms and feet. I do the same. I hold my now skinned squirrel up and show Daryl. _It could... be worse..._

Daryl chuckles, "Not bad for a first time."

I frown, _was I that obvious?_

"I saw the way you was lookin' at that squirrel," he says in answer and he moves on to his next squirrel, "You wanna keep helpin' or you done?"

_I'm done. Oh dear God yes, please. Done. So, so done._

"I can help if you need it," I offer shyly

Daryl grumbles under his breath, clears his throat, then speaks up, "Nah, run along, I've got this."

"Ok," I mumble, I set my squirrel beside him and go inside.

"So?" Carl walks over to me as I shut the door behind me.

I laugh vaguely and shake my head, "I think it's best we leave the skinning to Daryl." Carl laughs and we walk back into the kitchen- living room area. We each grab a pecan even though Michonne gives us a scolding look. The taste of the pecan is both sweet and salty, eating it is like eating the pudding, that feeling of satisfaction as you eat it.

We sit around the table until Daryl comes in with the skinned and gutted squirrels, he says he's hung the deer up and he'll take care of that later. Michonne roasts the squirrels and soon we're ready to eat. By now the sun has passed it's peak in the sky and my stomach is making noises. We split up the squirrel and pecans evenly and then we try sitting down like real people at the table. Except for Daryl, he leans against the wall, plate in one hand fork in the other, doing as Daryl does.

The squirrel is good, especially now that it's not raw and squishy. Carl inhales his squirrel, _good Lord that boy can eat_. He's chowing down on the last of his pecans, just as I'm finishing my squirrel.

"You gonna eat that?" Carl mumbles, his mouth full of pecans, eyeing my own pecans.

I give him a look that says 'stop right there Grimes, them's my pecans'. Carl rolls his eyes at me, but doesn't press further. After a moment I tighten my lips and slide a pecan in his direction. He gives me a look that says 'I win' and then tosses the candied pecan into his mouth, to which I shake my head and laugh.

"Do we have any idea if the showers here are working?" Michonne asks all of us

I shrug, Carl shrugs, Rick shrugs, Daryl walks over to the sink, flips on the faucet, water comes dribbling out.

"Yup," he says, "Probably hooked up to a well, water not be hot but it's better than nothin'."

"I'd like to clean my jacket if that's not a problem," I speak up, my voice sounds timid and nervous. _Come on Sam, what's the worst they're gonna say? No?_

"Yeah, that'd be ok," Rick nods

"So we all get to shower?" Carl asks enthusiastically, "With like running water?"

Rick chuckles, nodding "Yeah, we all get to shower." his son's excitement is obviously pleasing for him. Carl's still a little off with his dad, I think Carl's taking what his dad did to protect him a little hard.

So after everyone finishes eating, I grab my jacket and Carl is forced to wait before he can shower. The adults get to go first, but they've made a point that_us_ showering_ together_ is not an option. Which I think both of us are ok with, because while we're close to being back to what we used to, there's still some discomfort, and we weren't even at _that_ point before everything happened.

I find some soap and one of those old laundry scrub boards, so I fill up a bucket with water and I head outside, Carl follows me because he hasn't anything better to do. I roll up the sleeves of my denim shirt and I soak my jacket and pour some of the soap into the water, I stir it around with my jacket and then I scrub my jacket against the board.

"Not as good as a Maytag, huh?" Carl comments

I glare at him, there's a smirk on his face, so I know he's teasing, but still. I splash water towards him and he couldn't exactly deflect it, his nose crinkles up and he squints his eyes shut. I laugh and he glares at me. I stick out my tongue at him and he rolls his eyes. I continue scrubbing until the grass and dirt stains are gone and I've gotten rid of as much blood as I can.

I lift it up for Carl to see, "That look better?" I ask

His voice catches in his throat for a moment and his eyes stray to the left shoulder of the jacket, the blood may be gone, but the hole still remains. He catches my worried looks and shakes head, "Oh yeah, looks great." but there isn't power to back up his words.

I smile like I believe him, "Awesome! Let's head back in then, it's starting to get chilly. But first, I'll hang this up to dry." there's actually a clothes line here, so, I pin up my jacket and then we head back inside. I look at him and grab his hand, lacing my fingers through his. He gives me a real smile, obviously pleased at my gesture of affection.

He leans towards me like he's about to kiss my cheek, but before I can stop myself, my body flinches and Carl pulls away.

"Sorry," I mumble

"'S fine." Carl looks at the ground

I want to tell him that it's not, but we'll just go in circles and it'll be pointless, "Ok," I kick the leaves as we walk.

Something twists inside me, and suddenly I feel the need to speak out. My feet freeze and I turn to him, "We can't do this Carl."

His eyes widen quickly in alarm, "Do what?"

"Pretend things are ok and lie to each other. It's not worth it, it's doing more bad than good. I see the truth, and I know you do too. All it does is create holes, holes that are hard to patch. I don't want that. So please, just... be honest." I blink up at him, scared I didn't say the right words

He bites his tongue and nods at me, "Ok."

Man, does he have a way with words.

We go back into the house and just chill, Daryl and Michonne have already taken their showers and are back in the living room. I must admit it's strange to see Daryl Dixon without greasy hair and have a certain odor about him.

"Your dad's in the shower, he should be out soon," Michonne tells Carl. Carl nods, but it's like he doesn't really care.

I gnaw on my bottom lip, then I look at Carl, "Hey let's go check out that bookshelf we saw, maybe, if you're good I'll read to ya later." I wink at him, with a teasing tone in my voice. He grins and bumps me with his hip, a little on the hard side, and I'm not prepared, so it sends me stumbling a couple inches.

"Careful," Carl's eyebrow lift playfully, and I shove him back with my hip harder. I send him stumbling a good foot and I let out a real laugh. Carl glares at me and starts to move towards me when Daryl clears his throat. And both of us duck our heads and walk back to the room we're staying in.

Carl closes the door and I lean up and sneak a peck on his cheek. For a moment my throat closes up and my stomach tenses up and I'm scared I'm gonna puke, but it passes when I see the look on Carl's face. Then my cheeks are red and it's hard to look at him. But I manage and then I know that yes, we can patch the holes.


	38. Conflict

Conflict is part of human nature. We as humans, face conflict. Whether it be like before, where there were threats of nuclear war and terrorism and the like. Or now, when our conflict is flesh-eating monsters that defy most death logic. But that's only half of it, we also face inner conflict, with ourselves as naturally we make mistakes and then suffer consequentially often emotionally within ourselves. You question yourself a lot of the time which also sort of inner conflict, because part of your mind says _'Dude you know that color pink? It's not that bad_' and then the majority of your mind is like_ 'Dude. What. The. Hell. is wrong with you? What drugs are you on? Pink is gross. GTFO.'_ and voilà inner conflict. Of course, a lot of the time it's a little more... deep than that. But the point stands. Conflict is human, it's part of us, and it shapes us as a result.

Carl leaves to go take his shower, which gives me time to do whatever the hell I want to. And as could be expected, I read. I lay on my stomach, book stretched out in front of me and I start _13 Reasons Why_. The concept itself I find to be quite interesting, but Carl's right, it is a little girly for my taste. Still, I read it, because I'm stubborn and I have hopes.

I read for however long, until Carl comes back, still wearing the dark green t-shirt and cargo pants, his hair has that towel dried look and is almost black from being wet. I look up from my book, and he walks over and lays next to me on the bed in a similar fashion. He peeks at what I'm reading and he lets out a groan.

"I can't believe you,"

"What?" I turn to him, protesting.

"You actually got that book?" he complains

"I'm not saying you have to read it," I shrug

"Good," he rolls his eyes, smirking at me. I roll my eyes back, and I push myself up and sit back on my heels.

"I'm gonna go shower now," I extend my thumb towards the door and Carl nods. I push myself off the bed and grab my bag. I walk to the bathroom and close the door behind me. _God, my first shower since the prison_. It's been too long. But really, this is to be expected, it _is_ the zombie apocalypse and we have greater things to worry about than personal hygiene. I walk over to the shower and turn the faucet, water starts as a dribble from the shower head, but the further I turn the faucet, the more it picks up. Give that a chance to do whatever warming up it can.

I remove my beanie and shake my hair out of the ponytail, I kick out of my Docs and then remove my socks. I strip down until the only thing I have on is the bandage on my shoulder. I decide it would be a good idea to take that off too. So for the first time in a while I get a look at my shoulder. The wound has scabbed over, dried blood around the edges and stick roughly to my skin. The skin is growing back together, it's a little gross, but nothing is horribly discolored, or otherwise fear inducing. I should be fine.

I step into the shower and the water is actually lukewarm, which is surprising, but nice. It pounds against my head, sticking my hair against my skin and weighing it down at the same time. When the water hits my shoulder it stings, but not terribly. There's actually soap and shampoo and conditioner and all that good stuff in this shower. I scrub the dirt off of my body and replace it with soap bubbles and the fragrance of lavender. I scrub out the grease and grime, and whatever the hell else is in my hair, and replace it with whatever 'waterfall mist' smells like. All I know is that it's certainly better than walker smell. I clean off my face, let it be noted that apocalypse plus puberty don't turn out too well when it comes to your face. Acne. Acne everywhere. Soon the water loses its lukewarm quality and I begin to shiver. I turn off the shower and I dry off. I feel fresh and clean and new. I squeeze as much water as I can out of my hair, and let it be the way it is. I put on my undergarments and my whitewashed jeans and then call for Michonne. I need someone else to come dress this stupid shoulder.

Michonne comes quicker than was necessary, "What's wrong?" she throws open the door of the bathroom.

I look at the linoleum floor, embarrassed that I caused such a hassle, "I just needed someone took bandage up my shoulder." I mumble

"Oh," she nods, relieved, "I'll go get our stuff and I'll be right back, ok?" Michonne says, I nod. She's back a moment later with alcohol and the bandaging, she gives the wound a good rub down, making sure it's clean and then wraps it and we're done. I quickly put on my t-shirt and Michonne leaves to go about her business. I put my denim shirt back on, then the vest. I change my socks and then I lace up my Doc Martens and I grab my beanie. I'm set.

I shoulder my bag that I actually only needed for socks, which upon retrospect was a stupid reason to take along my whole bag. I go back into the room to find Carl with his nose stuck in a book. Not just any book mind you, _13 Reasons Why_. I snort and Carl looks up, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. I smirk and lift an eyebrow at him.

"Girly, huh?" I contain barely contain my laughter

Carl opens his mouth, to argue whatever meager point he had about the legitimacy of him reading this book, but then closes it. Then opens it again, then closes it. Finally, on the third try of opening his mouth, he finds words, "I was bored, and it was here, and I wanted to figure out what was so great about it anyways." he frowns and I crack up.

I walk over next to him and sit beside him, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No," he grumbles unhappily, "it was stupid as far as I read."

"It was pretty dumb," I admit, shrugging, "Maybe it's just that people's issues before, seem ridiculous now. I'm sure, given different circumstances I'd enjoy it more."

"So I was right?" Carl looks at me optimistically

I give him a look and he chuckles.

"Move over," I push him slightly, and Carl scoots over, I drop my bag and I dig out a different book. It's a bit of a juvenile book, but honestly I couldn't care less.

"The Mouse and the Motorcycle?" Carl reads, clearly unimpressed.

"Come on," I nudge him with my elbow, lying down next to him so that our sides are touching, from shoulder to hip. It takes me a moment to adjust and I can feel Carl looking at me, making sure I'm alright. I come out of it and he goes back to normal.

"It just seems a bit," Carl shrugs, "childish,"

I lift an eyebrow at him, "Have you ever actually read it?"

"I'm a comic book person," Carl explains, as if I hadn't already known

I roll my eyes at him and let out an over dramatic sigh, "Useless," I shake my head at him teasingly.

"One of these days, we're going to read comics together, and then you'll see true art." Carl promises

"Do you think they'll have stuff like that at Terminus?" I ask quietly, I'm not sure how Carl will react.

He turns towards me and sits up, "Sam, how much faith are you putting in this place?" he grits his teeth and his eyes are slightly narrowed, more worried than anything else.

I pause for a moment,_ how much __**do**__ I believe in Terminus? I mean it sounds good. A safe haven? Is there such thing? Yes. There has to be. The prison was. For a long time. It was my safe haven from Woodbury. And Woodbury was my safe haven from the outside. Yet here I am again, in the outside. What if it's like Woodbury? And there's some nut case running the place. But then again, it could be run like the prison, with good people._

"A lot I guess," I finally shrug.

"You don't have a single doubt that it's safe and nothing's up?" Carl looks at me in disbelief

"Well..."

"Sam, please tell me you aren't completely head over heels for the idea of this place," Carl begs

"I'm not! I know that some places look good, but they really aren't. I was part of Woodbury, I know what it's like to be fooled," I shake my head

"Then why are you so eager to leave this place, which we know is good and we know is safe?" Carl demands._ I don't want to argue. I don't want this to divide us. I don't want this_. In a way, I do get where he's coming from. He sees this place as a viable home, a place we could stay. There's pecans and deer and water. We've got each other, what more could we need? But I know.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool, I lower my voice, "Carl, something very bad happened here. And it just kind of freaks me out, ok? And maybe I want to go to this place, because I want more than anything to find the rest of our group. The rest of our family!" my tone squeaks at the end.

"What if we're too late? What if those signs are old and Terminus is overrun?! Huh? Then what happens? Our family, if they honestly believe in this place, wouldn't they just run into yet _another _walker trap? What if they get eaten? What if we do that? What if I got eaten? What if you got eaten? I couldn't live with that Sam. I can't live with that idea in my mind. I don't want to lose you because we were too idiotic and fell for the Terminus trap." Maybe he doesn't mean them this way, maybe he's just desperate and he doesn't know what else to do to make me see things his way. That's what happened to me earlier at least, but his words come out coarse and painful. They make me cringe, is he calling me idiotic? For believing in this place? Certainly not, he can't. Not Carl.

My heart wells up inside of me and I can't look at him, I consider firing mean, hateful words back at him. But I can't. I need to stop. I need to breathe. I sharply turn away from him.

Carl speaks up, and I stop, let him say his piece, "Let's just forget it, ok? I don't want to fight with you."

I nod, pretending I'm ok, "I'll be back, I'm just gonna... I gotta go do some... things..." I get up hastily and leave, shutting the door behind me. I lean against the door and rest the back of my head against it, looking up at the ceiling. _Just take a moment to cool down. _

I walk into the living room area, there's another fire going, and Daryl's got the deer in the kitchen it's hanging from the light fixture, and he's standing there, skinning it. Rick and Michonne aren't in sight.

"You and your little boyfriend have a spat?" Daryl says, not looking away from his job.

I walk towards him, mildly intrigued at the difference of skinning a deer from that of a squirrel.

"You heard?" I pull my lips to a thin line.

"Y'all ain't exactly quiet," Daryl snorts, most of attention still on the deer.

I nod a little, "Daryl?"

"Yeah kid," Daryl gives a tired sigh, like he regrets speaking up in the first place

"What happened to Beth? Where is she now?" I ask quietly,_ the man's got a knife, and I don't know how sensitive a subject that is with him._

"She gone," he cuts the internal organs out sharply. And tosses what he can't use in the pathetic trash can.

"Daryl?" I say again, my voice even more timid if that's possible

"What." he practically spits, knife cutting off the deer's hoof at the elbow.

"You miss her, don't you?" _let it be noted, these may be my last words. I'm sorry, Carl. _

He puts the knife down, and grips the counter, "Yeah, kid. I miss 'er. Anythan' else?" his tone is snippy and makes me a little shaky in my boots.

_Nope, I like knowing that I'm gonna live... so I'm just gonna shut up now. Yeah ok? Bye!_ I turn around, "Nah, I just needed some air for a minute. I'm sorry, Daryl. About Beth."

It hits me, that he doesn't just miss her because they were together for a while and now she's just gone. It's because he loves her. It's deeper than that, it's almost like he's developed some sort of affection for her, but I really can't quite place it. My gut wrenches and I feel stupid for squabbling with Carl over such a dumb subject, I should appreciate what I've got while I've still got it, because you never know when it'll just be..._gone._

I think about Carl's words, 'What if I were eaten.' And it makes me think of Beth and her being gone. _What if Carl was gone?_ That thought is a lot for my head to take in, because I start running through all the things that wouldn't be ok if he was gone. Images come to mind, from him being overcome by walkers after running out of bullets like the guy I saw, an eye being ripped out of his face. Being choked to death, the last thing he sees being someone who can't help him. Me just waking up one morning and him being nowhere. And I don't want him to be _gone._ It's all I can do not to run back into that room and tackle him in a hug.

I walk very stiffly, trying to hold back all of my muscles from making a break for it. I clench my fists at my sides, my mostly bitten nails dig into my palms. I open the door, and he's still on the bed. He's not reading though, he's just lying there, staring at the wall in front of him, "Did you do what needed to be done?" I hate how brittle and almost hostile he is towards me.

An uneven and shaky breath escapes me. And I feel stupid, like seriously stupid. I'm overreacting. But then an image of a Carl's blood spattering the flowers instead of whoever's that was comes to mind, and I have to stop moving.

_Sam. Get your shit together. _

_You're being dumb._

"Sam?" Carl looks at me, probably because I'm making a scene, "Hey, um, earlier I didn't-" he stops and takes another look at me, and it hits me he wasn't looking at my emotional breakdown before, but he is now. "Sam?" I don't want to, but I'm shaking now, trying to keep myself together. I'm not doing a very good job of it. His eyes widen and he gets up, walking over to me.

"I'm sorry," comes out of my mouth, "it was a dumb thing to argue about." my voice cracks, I look at him.

"What... what did you do? What's wrong?" he steps closer. I can't stop myself anymore. I hug him and he's stiff at first, but then he hugs me back.

"Hey, it's ok," he says, rubbing my back.

"I don't want you to be like Beth. I don't want you to be gone." I mumble into his shoulder.

"Sam," he says in disbelief, "what are you talking about?" he pulls back a little bit.

I have to take a deep breath, so I just don't end up losing it. I don't want him to see that insanity, he doesn't need to see it. He can't see it.

"I was talking to Daryl," I start out._ Ok, not bad, you made it through one sentence._

Carl nods.

"And I asked about Beth." _good, another sentence._

"He said she was just gone." I'm starting to fall apart. _Uh oh, keep it together. Keep it together_. "And I started thinking about what would happen if you were gone because you were talking about getting eaten. And I don't want that Carl. That scares me. I don't want that for either of us." _Ok. I finished. Not my best, certainly not my best. _

_You're such an idiot._

_He probably thinks you're a stupid, clingy idiot._

"Sam," he starts, "I didn't mean what I said earlier. It just came out and I'm sorry. I really am honest to God sorry. I didn't mean for you to get upset and-" he stops and shakes his head, the teeniest, itty-bitty smirk curls out of the left side of his mouth, "I'm not gonna 'be gone'. I gotta stick around, remember? Who else are you gonna read to? Who else is gonna call you bookworm, and tease you about your book fetish?" he smirks, poking me in the side. My shoulders flinch up and Carl laughs at my reaction.

"I don't have a fetish!" I protest. A small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. His grin makes me feel warm inside and the pain and the fear disappear like they were never there.

"Sure, ok," he teases, and I hug him again. There's no tension and I'm relieved.

"You're cute when you're worried," he jokes. I pull away and I glare at him. Freaking Carl. I may feel conflicted on a lot of things, but he is not one of them.


	39. Alive

I think being alive is one of the greatest gifts. There's a clear distinction between living, and being alive. Or at least for me there is. Living is being animate, being there, just getting by. Walkers... to an extent... are living. They are animate, they get by. But they aren't alive. They don't get to enjoy the warmth of holding a loved one's hand. Or the joy that comes with eating chocolate pudding. They don't think, they don't do anything but eat and go after their food. They don't feel. I think that's another part of being alive. You get to feel, you get to emote. Being alive is special and at least I think we should be thankful for it, not having to walk around brain dead and eating flesh.

The next morning I wake up at about dawn, I feel Carl's warm breathe against my neck, it blows a couple stray hairs against my ear and vaguely tickles. Last night I made the decision to let myself sleep close to Carl like I used to. I'm not gonna lie, it was nice, and I missed it more than I realized.

I'm turned on my side and Carl's arm are wrapped around my waist, keeping me close. My hands press against his and I lie there, staring at the wall for a minute, just enjoying this. Just enjoying being alive.

It takes me a minute to realize we're leaving today, or at least I hope we will. Excitement sparks in my chest.

I push myself into the sitting up position and Carl stirs, he grumbles unintelligible things and his messy hair covers up his eyes. It's a big fluffy messy this morning. He pushes himself up by his elbows and rubs the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Good morning," I can't hide the grin that forms on my face at the sight of this sleepy, groggy Carl.

He just glares halfheartedly at me, which makes me smile even more.

"Come on, the others are probably up, we need to get a move on." I remind him. I push myself onto my knees and crawl off the bed. I lace up my Docs and slip an over-sized, soft, grayish-blue knit sweater over my green T-shirt. I slip my beanie on and make sure everything is in my bag. I'm ready to go before Carl even gets out of bed.

"Someone's in a good mood this morning," Carl comments, his voice even deeper than usual, it's heavy with sleep.

"He speaks!" I joke, throwing my arms in the air with mock celebration.

He glares at me again and I toss his sweatshirt at him. He catches it and puts it on. He reaches down for his hat and firmly places it on his head. He kicks his legs over the side of the bed and puts on his shoes. I wait eagerly, by the door rocking back and forth on my feet.

Finally Carl grabs his bag and I throw open the door and walk out into the living room area. Over in the kitchen Daryl is cutting up the deer meat he cooked last night. Wrapping it so we have food on the road, for a bit at least. Rick and Michonne are talking at the table, and look up after a moment, noticing our presence.

Rick coughs a bit, clearing his throat, Daryl's eyes move up for a moment, but he doesn't acknowledge us, they just move back down, focused on chopping.

"We'll get on the road as soon as Daryl finishes up, why don't y'all finish off the pecans? Get somethin' in your systems before we head out."

Carl nods at the ground, not eager to look at his dad, I look at Rick and Michonne. Something doesn't feel right, enough for me to be compelled to speak up, "Shouldn't y'all have some too? Y'all need the energy just as much as we do."

Michonne gives me a reassuring smile, "We'll be fine, you kids eat."

"I'm fine," Carl shrugs and I cut him a glance.

"Me too. We'll need them later probably anyway." I lie. My stomach grumbles in protest. I've been hungrier, I'm fine, this is to hopefully prevent being that hungry again.

I excuse myself to grab my jacket off the clothesline. It's dry now, it definitely looks better than it did before I washed it. I drop my bag and slip the jacket on. I pick my bag back up and go back inside, by that time we're ready to go.

Daryl and Rick take their usual lead, Michonne in the middle, and Carl and I bringing up the rear. A sense of relief over comes me as we take to the tracks and leave the grove house behind.

"We should reach Terminus before sundown tomorra," Rick says, turning back to face us. We've been walking along the tracks for a couple hours now, "If we're lucky we'll walk through a town, there might be another sign there. Maybe a place to sleep, if we're lucky more food." yes, we could always use more food.

Carl looks up from the rails, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, asks towards the adults, "When we get there, are we gonna tell 'em?"

Michonne looks back, slowing her pace, "Tell 'em what?"

Carl clears his throat and then look at Michonne, "Everything that's happened to us. All the stuff we've done."

_No_. Is the first answer that pops into my head, "Dad didn't."

Carl's head whirls towards me, "What?"

_Great, what have I gotten myself into_, "When we came to the prison, we told y'all what Rick asked. Nothing more, unless Dad or I felt complied to share."

"Oh," is all Carl says, "Are we gonna tell 'em the truth?"

"We're gonna tell 'em who we are." Rick explains

"But how do you say that?" the distress in Carl's tone palpable, "I mean, who are we?"

That's an excellent question, really it is if you think about it. We're people, who've done things we're not proud of. But we do them for survival. We've been through hell and back. We've lost and gained so much. But how does that define us as people? Haven't we all been through those things?

But Rick doesn't get the opportunity to answer the question because the moans of a walker emerge along with its limping, dead, bloody body in tow.

Carl and Rick draw their guns and Michonne pulls out her katana. I pull out my knife, but none of that is necessary because Daryl shoots the ugly thing right in between the eyes with his crossbow. The walker falls to the ground and Daryl bends down, ripping out the arrow from the skull. There's a sickening '**SHLUCK**' and my gut churns, I squeeze the hilt of my knife and put it back where it belongs.

We're back on the road and Carl turns to me, "So what _don't_ I know about you?" I guess maybe my comment took more of an effect on him than I realized.

I shrug.

"Oh come on, I always tell you stories about me, what about you? You read all those stories, don't you have any of your own?" Carl pushes, his hand slips out of his sweatshirt pocket and steals one of mine from my jacket pocket. His hand is sweaty, probably from spending all that time in the sweatshirt, but I don't let go.

My expression twists around as I think, but I just shrug again, "I'm just not that interesting."

"I'm not asking for interesting," Carl shrugs

"You only let me read interesting stories to you," I reason.

"Well it's about you, so that makes me interested," Carl counters. I smile a little and shake my head at him, "tell me about your family."

_Ok, simple enough I guess_, "I had my dad," I'm starting to choke up, memories are flooding in too fast, "and my mom and my brother, Noah." I spit out quickly. I make myself focus on the rails,_ only the rails._ _Don't think about them. Don't think._

"Oh," Carl says after a moment, then I realize he wanted me to tell more than just their names. _I'm not sure if I can do that._

"You wanna know how they died, don't you?" I don't look up at him.

"No! No, I mean, not unless you wanna tell me. I get why you wouldn't wanna..." he trails off.

In life you have two ways to look at things, you can look at all the good things that have happened in your life, and make being alive worthwhile. Or you can look at all the sad things that make you wish you weren't alive.

So I decide not to tell the sad things, I look over at Carl, "Well Noah was a lot like you, he liked comic books and super heroes. He absolutely hated the beach, which was funny because we went there every single summer. My mom and I didn't have too much in common, other than our love for books. She wanted me to be just like her and to wear dresses and to be a perfect little lady. Because that's what she did, wore dresses near every day, and always sat with her best posture. She didn't care much for science fiction or fantasy movies, I got to enjoy those with my dad. He was cool, he absolutely loved sports and food. He loved my mom's cooking, which I liked too, we all did. She was a great cook, that's something else I never quite picked up on," I laughed. Carl's eyes are bright looking at me and he's grinning.

"They sound great," he gives my hand a squeeze and I nod in response. It's not quite as painful talking about them this way, because I can kind of pretend they're still here.

I don't ask him about his family, because I already know about his mom and Judith, and Rick is still here.

He speaks up again, "What about you though. You can't tell me for 12 years you sat inside reading books, what else did you enjoy?"

I smirk at the idea,_ let's give him one out of left field, shall we_, "Boogie-boarding."

Carl physically stops and looks me in the eye, "What?" it's like he's trying not to laugh.

"You heard me," I scoff

"You boogie-boarded? Like on the ocean?" Carl's grinning now

I nod at him, "What?"

He just looks at me and shakes his head in disbelief, "I just... it's unexpected. That's all." he meekly shrugs, the smile still wide on his face, his eyes are soft as they look at me. I get all blushy and I look away. He bumps me with his shoulder and I bump him back. We don't talk anymore, but I don't mind, sometimes it's nicer this way.

The sun has passed its peak and we're approaching a railroad crossing ahead. Right away, my nose picks up the scent of dead walker. My nose crinkles and the others have similar reactions, but Daryl pulls out his crossbow just in case. We walk faster, and my eyes notice the red painted against the small white building. I squint my eyes and pick up my pace, I drop Carl's hand.

_GLENN_

_GO TO TERMINUS_

_MAGGIE_

For a moment I'm not the one who controls my actions. I sprint for the lettering. I hear footsteps pick up after me.

"It's Maggie!" I try not to shout, I wait until they're all close enough for them to hear me.

Rick nods, "It's not fresh, but it's somethin'."

I look at Carl, _that big doubter. Doubty McDoubter pants._

_Ok Sam, now you're just being dumb._

I flash my eyebrows up at him. Almost gloating, but not quite. He just rolls his eyes at me.

We continue down the tracks, there's a little more spring in my step. _Yes, Terminus will be a good thing. There are others that are alive, and they are headed to Terminus. Maggie's no idiot. It's ok to believe in Terminus._

Carl's taken to holding my hand again and he seems a little less put out. He keeps looking over at me and sometimes I look back, but he doesn't hold the eye contact for very long. And then it's back to the drawing board where we just stare ahead, wondering what's next.

By the time the sun begins to hide behind the tree line ahead, we've past another sign Maggie left, and I see buildings. A town, we've found a town. Perfect.

We pick up our pace and then spread out around the first building we see. It's a large brick one, black awnings cover the open, useless doors. Daryl, Carl, and I head around to the back of the building, to scout out any walkers while Rick and Michonne check out the inside of the building. There's a circle of cars, with walkers lying dead sporadically, some in piles, some just here and there. There's one, still alive, but it's underneath a pile of three more, its limbs rendered useless under the dead weight. Daryl shoots it in the head to put it out of its misery. A quick yank of the arrow and it's back in his crossbow, ready to take down it's next victim. Daryl hops over the hood of one of the cars in the circle, while Carl and I squeeze through between two of the cars. In the middle of the circle is a pole that's sharp-ish on one end, stained in black blood, and there's a No Parking sign where you can't see half of the No Parking because it's covered in so much blood and guts.

Carl immediately flocks to the sign, he picks up, judging its weight. Which I assumed would be pretty heavy, but Carl looks to handle pretty well. Daryl scouts around the cars for anymore stray walkers and I notice a fallen shattered window in front of the building. I look back to Carl and he's swinging the No Parking sign around like it's a light saber. I give him a bored look, with just a touch of 'what the hell are you doing'. I manage to catch his eye. He pauses for a moment, mid swoosh, his mouth is even open. He must have been making the noises. I lift a single eyebrow and he blushes, putting down the sign slowly. I smile and roll my eyes.

"C'mon," Daryl nods at us to follow him to the other side of the building. I follow him and Carl brings up the rear. Daryl lifts his hand back towards us, signaling for us to hold up. I unsheathe my knife and the cold hilt sits in the palm of my hand, my fingers clench tightly around the knife, and I raise my arm, prepared to strike. I hear the click of the safety going to the off position behind me. Daryl peeks his head around the corner, then he takes a step out, I step forward and I watch him scan the area with the crossbow pointed. He gives us the all clear and we proceed to enter the building.

The first floor is scattered with miscellaneous items, there's stacks of boxes, and stacks of paper and stacks of filled sacks. Wooden support beams stretch up to the ceiling and are scattered throughout the floor. In the center is a large wooden staircase that basically beckons us to skip the bland disappointment of this floor for the unknown possibilities of the next. We ascend the staircase. Boy, were we lied to. This floor is even more disappointing than the last. This floor is a near barren loft. A couple planks of painted wood are propped up against the brick wall. I notice one of the window panels is missing, that must be where the one down below came from.

"Ain't got no fancy beds tonight," Daryl commented, turning his head towards Carl and me.

"Nope," I shake my head in agreement

"We'll make do," Carl insists

I notice something else that this room lacks, and I hear noise below my feet.

"Rick?" Daryl calls

"Michonne?" I chime in

"Down here!" Rick calls in response.

We drop our bags and head downstairs. They're behind the stairs, going through the supplies, seeing if there's anything useful, they've obviously already made the run through to see if there's any walkers lurking around.

"There's some oats here, and a cast iron pot, we start a fire and boil some water we could have some oatmeal with our deer. Throw them pecans in the oatmeal. We'll have a good meal, help us get through to Terminus." Rick says. We all nod and we start doing our own jobs. Rick tells me to come with him to collect some wood, I find it a bit strange he doesn't ask his son to do the job, but I think that he senses Carl's reluctance too.

We head out back towards the trees and into the forest, I've put away my knife for now because this is a two hands job.

For the longest time, there isn't much noise beyond the crunch of leaves beneath our feet and the occasional bird or insect call. Rick bends down to grab a thick branch, and I've already got a few smaller ones in my arms, "So you like my son?" he stands back up, towering over me. With his unshaven face, raspy, deep voice, and dark circles under his eyes, he's a bit of a scary man. The quickly fading light is no help either. He's not even trying to be particularly menacing or threatening, he's just asking a question.

_Well. Here it is, the one thing I've been subconsciously dreading since Rick and Michonne caught us sleeping together._

I look down and swallow hard, _he ain't gonna bite, it's ok_. I try to reassure myself, "Yes sir."

Rick nods, this was just the beginning, the part he already knew, "He treatin' you alright? You treatin' him alright?"

I nod again, "Yes sir, we're getting along just fine," I let out a little smile, and my cheeks blush bright red. I grab another branch a couple feet away

Rick is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, "Has he told you about Lo- his mother? How she... died?" he's a little choked up and I see pain in his eyes at the mention of his wife.

I nod solemnly, "Yes sir."

Rick nods, pressing his lips together, "He's a good man, Carl. I don't doubt for one second he'll treat you right, but y'all are young, and sometimes young people make bad decisions that they regret, and-"

"No," I stop him, "Carl and I... no sir. We just... no. We're too young for that. I'm too young for that. I don't even know... after those men that night... if either of us..." I trail off. _Oh God. I got dragged all the way out in the woods for the __**sex **__talk! Good lord..._

Rick clears his throat awkwardly, he bends down and grabs some more stick "Good, uhm, that's good. I know that he's still wary of me right now. After all that. So, can you do me a favor and make sure he stays safe, make sure he's ok. Be there for him."

I nod in complete understanding, "Yes sir, I tend to do that already. That's not a problem."

"Thank you, Sam. You're a good kid," Rick tells me. I duck my head at his praise. I nod in response, "I think we've got enough, I think we should head back before the others get worried."

"Yes sir,"

We build the fire and get the water boiling. Michonne fixes dinner and Carl and Daryl roast chunks of venison on sticks they've sharpened from their own collecting. The sun is gone now, and we decide to eat outside beside the fire. It's not too far from the building, so if shit hits the fan, we're close. The early night has me shivering so just before dinner is ready I run inside and go upstairs. I grab the blanket Carl and I share and then I dig through my bag and at the very bottom I find my fingerless gloves. I slip them on to try and warm my hands some and then I run back outside.

Carl and I sit side by side, shoulders touching, blanket draped around each of our outer shoulders as we eat that night. The oatmeal is good, especially with the remaining candied pecans mixed in. The taste of venison is succulent and is one of the best things I've tasted since the pudding house. We've still got over half the deer left, even after eating heartily. It's been a while since I've had a nice full stomach. I forgot what it felt like to be honest. But it's nice to remember. The warm meal, the fire, and the blanket, and Carl all keep me from being cold. After I finish, we just sit there, studying the fire. Carl's arm finds its way around my waist and he pulls me even closer.

I wish we were alone again, because I miss the freedom of being as comfortable as Carl as I wished. Now I have the eyes of his father, Michonne, and Daryl, which might as well be Carl's extended family as close as they all are. And I guess I'm part of it too now.

His head is leaned against mine, I move from my position so I can look at him properly, "Do you believe in it yet?" I ask him, "After all we've seen today?"

He shrugs, "Maybe,"

"They're alive Carl." my tone is not scolding, it's just glee, "Maggie, Glenn, whoever else she got out with, they're alive." I rest my head back against his chest.

I like the way that sounds.

_They're alive. They're alive. We're alive, and they're alive. _And soon, we'll all be alive together.


	40. New Beginning

Everyone needs a new beginning some time. A chance to start over, a chance to refresh. I've had two, well three if you count the start of this whole thing. And I treasure them, they give you a chance to reestablish yourself. Right the wrongs from before. Because now no one knows the things you've done, save the people that join in your new beginning. The most important question when you start over is, what will you do with your new beginning?

As a group, we migrate up to the second floor of the building. Rick stamps out the fire, and Daryl makes sure the building is locked down. He says he'll stay on the first floor to make sure everything stays safe. I doubt he'll sleep tonight. Carl and I find a corner towards the back of the building on the second floor. The building keeps the wind out, but not much else, and tonight's gonna be a cold one.

_We'll just have to cuddle to keep warm. _

_Gosh darn it. Isn't that just unfortunate._

_Wait, what?_

"You gonna be ok?" Carl asks, "Are you gonna be warm enough, or..." he gestures at his dark blue hoodie. We sit, backs against the cold brick wall. The chill seeps through my layers, of clothing and I grip at my sweater sleeves. We aren't that close, yet, just our knees touch as we sit cross-legged, the blanket spread across both of our laps. He's not wearing the hat now, it sits on his other side.

_No, I'll have you to keep me warm._

_Logical answers, Sam. Keep it logical. _

I smile kindly at him, "I'll be fine, thanks."

Rick and Michonne are on the other side of the huge loft, it's too dark to tell whether they're asleep or not, but if I can't seem them I decide they can't see me, so I let myself relax a little.

"So," Carl cocks an eyebrow, "you gonna read tonight?" his interest is cute, but I have the sneaking suspicion he enjoys the me talking more than the story itself.

I roll my eyes at him and playfully shove his chest, "You're so needy. Why don't _you_ be the one to read tonight?" I suggest, because I too can find enjoyment in hearing Carl Grimes speak for long periods of time.

He gives me a look like I've grown a second head, "Have you _heard_ me read out loud?"

I give a little chuckle and shake my head.

"Well let's just say some of us haven't kept our reading skills as sharp as others." he shrugs meekly

"You said you read comics," I tease

"Yes, and my abilities to read BLAMs and SPLATs are quite good, however I'm not sure if I could read you the finer works with words like an-anen-anea-" Carl frowns as he tries to get the word out

"Anemone?" I laugh

He scowls, "Yes. That. Ugh. See this is why I let you do the reading."

I smile pridefully, giving a slight roll of my eyes, "Point taken."

"So you'll read?" he asks optimistically

I cast him a mischievous, "What do I get in return? I should use a little remuneration." _there, betcha can't say that one._

Carl's eyes widen, he is effectively lost, "Renuma-what?"

I laugh,_ knew it_, "Remuneration. It means payment. What do I get in return for reading to you." I do have some effective currency in mind, but I'm hoping he'll be the one suggest it.

"Guess you'll have to wait and see," he shrugs, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Well when you put it that way." I tease, "I guess I'll read."

I cave.

I'd have done it anyway I guess, but you know. It's worth a shot, "What do you wanna read?"

"Do you still have Peter Pan?" he asks. There's such innocence in his tone, he's just being honest. He doesn't realize the gravity that book has on me. I read that to him when he was sick, maybe even dying. The memories associated with reading that book are strong.

"Yeah," I croak out, giving a little nod. I get up and rummage through my bag, I find the paper back sitting at the bottom, The book still has the water damage from when it last rained and we found the carnival grounds. I go back to Carl and he leans against me while I read, book in one hand, flashlight in the other. He stays awake through the whole story this time, which is cute, even though his eyes get droopy, because it's late and we're both tired. I close the book and click off the flashlight. He sits up, stretching. For a moment I wonder if he's gonna do that stupid guy trick and use this as an excuse to put his arm around me. But he doesn't which is more than fine, because Carl's better than that.

"That's my favorite I think," Carl comments

"I like it," I don't know if I could make that bold statement as to call it my favorite though.

He looks at me and has a smirk on his face, "Wendy reminds me of you,"

I look curiously at him, "Why?"

He shrugs, "You don't think you'd follow a charming, young boy off to a magical island to take care of him and his brothers? Only to know you have to go home because you have good instincts?"

I shrug.

"Well, I just see it. You took care of me when I was sick." he points out

"You were too stubborn to go to A Block." I protest

Carl shrugs indifferently, "You still made sure I recovered. You didn't give up on me. You're like Wendy."

I smile a little, looking down, "Well, Peter reminds me of you. Stubborn, independent, doesn't let anyone tell him what to do."

Carl smirks, "I'd pick you over any Tiger Lily any day," I'm about to tell him that he's being a ridiculous kind of mushy. Not that it doesn't make my heart happy, or I don't think it's cute- because it is, it's just not Carl. I don't wanna be mushy. _Let's not be __**that **__couple. __**Please**__. _But then he kisses me, and he's shy about it at first, because my shoulders are tense and my body is still trying to disallow the contact my mind wishes for. _Stop that. Kiss him and be happy about it._ So I make my shoulders relax and we kiss.

_Yes. I missed this. I missed this most of all. _

_See, this is worth it. _

Eventually, one of us pulls away, and my head rest on his chest and his arms are wrapped around me. My mind being the ass it is remembers Rick's conversation with me earlier, "So, your dad had a little chat with me earlier." I joke quietly, I have to keep my voice down. We shouldn't be up this late, we need our sleep, and I also don't want to be overheard by anyone else who might happen to still be awake.

"Oh really?" Carl chuckles, "What about?"

I let out a breathy laugh, "You see that's the thing." I sit up a little, and I face him.

"Sam," Carl lifts his eyebrows at me, even in the darkness, his expression is clear, 'spill', it says.

"He was basically making sure we didn't have any plans to... help repopulate the earth..."

Carl's eyes widen, "He did not."

I nod, "He did."

"I can't believe he-"

"Carl," I stop him, "It's not a big deal. I kinda figured a conversation like that was bound to come up sometime. His concerns are legitimate, it's fine... really." I rest one of my hands against his chest.

He bites down on his bottom lip, he lets out a sigh and nods, "Yeah, I guess."

"We should really get some rest you know," I remind him

"Tomorrow's the big day," he says halfheartedly.

"You make it sound like it's gonna be the end of the world." I frown

He shrugs but doesn't continue, which is fine by me, I'm tired of fighting with him over the same subject. I rest my head back against his chest and my eyelids sag until I can't hold them open any longer.

As I fade, I tell myself that Terminus won't be the end, it will be a new beginning.


	41. Decent

Decency is one of those questionable things. Do we really have it anymore? Or did it die out when this all started? I think we'd all like to think we're decent people, but are we? We do things now, which in the world we used to know, would've been considered wicked, evil, sinful, disgraceful. Things that would've landed us in life sentences in the nearest penitentiary. But yet still we ask ourselves, are we decent?

I'm awoken in the middle of the night by the deafening crackle of thunder. I bolt to the sitting up position and I hear the constant pound of the rain above me. I hear the wind whipping against the walls of the building, and I can hear water drip into the building through the open pane of glass.

There's a flash of lightning that fills the room like it's daylight for a moment. A second later a clap of thunder rumbles in my ears and Carl is the one who's jolted awake.

"The hell?" he mutters, I look at him and his eyes are wide with fear.

There goes another boom. The more I hear it, the more I hear the thunder, the less it sounds like thunder. It melts together and sounds more like explosions. Explosions not unlike the ones that tore down our prison walls. I grab Carl's hand and he squeezes it. I know why he looked afraid.

"It's just thunder," I tell Carl, but really, I'm telling myself too.

"Yeah," Carl swallows roughly.

_I just need to relax, get my heart rate under control and I'll be out in no time_. I lie down and stare at the ceiling, I wait for a moment, "Ya gonna join me, or am I gonna have to stare alone?" I force some humor into my tone.

Carl lets out a forced chuckle and lies beside me, our sides touching.

"I hate thunderstorms," Carl grits his teeth.

I look over at him, "It's gonna be ok. Thunder is just the sound after a lightning strike due to the expansion of rapidly heating air." _read that in a book once_.

Carl shakes his head, a small smile on his face, like he's in disbelief, "You are so ridiculous sometimes."

A flash of lightning is immediately followed by a rumble of thunder, no delay. _That was a close one_, it shakes the building it's so loud.

"You know you can roughly estimate how far away a bolt of lightning is by the time it takes between the flash of lightning and the time you hear the thunder?" I ramble, _read that too. Same book_.

"Do you just spout off random facts when you're nervous Sam?" Carl laughs, but it's breathy. He's anxious too.

"Maybe," _Stupid thunderstorms. Freaking me out. Always have. No logical reason, they just do._

Another flash of lightning, "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi-" a crash of thunder interrupts my counting, "3 miles away." I conclude.

Carl nods, "We should try and get back to sleep."

"I can't," I shake my head, it's true, I probably couldn't even if I tried, I sleep too lightly for that.

"Me neither," Carl admits, grinding his teeth.

Lightning flashes its momentary light and I don't even get to one before lightning crashes. Carl squeezes my hand, I squeeze back. I squint my eyes shut, it's pointless to stare at darkness.

I can still tell when the lightning flashes because the world behind closed eyes brightens some and I begin counting out loud, Carl joins in too until thunder cuts us off and then I say how far away it is. In a strange way, it's almost therapeutic, and the anxiety that fights to keep me awake fades enough for me to slip back out of consciousness.

The storm has passed when I wake up the next morning. In the early dim light I find that Michonne and Rick aren't on this floor anymore, they must've gone downstairs.

I sit up, my back aches vaguely and I turn to Carl. His fingers are still loosely intertwined with mine, a smile curls in the corner of my mouth, I gently shake his shoulder, but he's out cold.

I decide to let him sleep for a little bit longer, I mean, it's not like we were leaving that minute, and who knows when he fell back asleep last night?

I walk downstairs quietly, ears prepped to hear voices. The rasp of Rick, the calm of Michonne, the twang of Daryl. But my ears pick up nothing. My lips draw to a line, confused. Surely there must be something. The board of the bottom step creaks and I cringe.

"Well one of them is up," I hear Daryl, he sounds tired.

I turn and look towards the back of the building. They're all sitting down in a corner.

I walk slowly towards them.

"How'd you sleep girly, thunder keep you up?" Daryl chuckles

I shrug, "Any walkers come around?" I imagine the thunder stirred them up, maybe it was a good thing Daryl stayed down here.

"A couple, I took care of 'em real quick though. Ain't nothin' ta worry 'bout."

"Where's Carl?" Rick asks

"Still asleep." I explain, "We ready to go? I can go get him..." I extend my thumb over my shoulder.

Rick bites the inside of his lips, flattening them out, thinking, "Let him be just a bit longer. I know he musta had a rough night." he decides.

Daryl stands up, "Well, if we're gonna wait, might as well use the time, I'm gonna see if the critter's are runnin' 'round this mornin'."

Rick nods, "Don't be out too long, though, 'specially since we wanna get there before tonight."

Daryl looks at me, "Wanna come hunt with me, girly?"

My eyes widen in surprise, _did that just happen? Did Daryl Dixon really just ask me to go hunt with him?_

_Is this real life?_

"Are you serious?" I exclaim in disbelief

Daryl rolls his eyes, "C'mon, ain't got time to waste." I follow him as he slings his crossbow off his back, "Grab that sack, you gonna need it," he nods at the empty bag on the ground that once held oats. I bend down and grab it. Daryl waits at the threshold of the door and I hurry up. Once I'm close enough he starts walking, I close the door behind me and run to catch up with him.

We head towards the woods, Daryl stops so he can load the crossbow. He pulls the string back, puts the arrow in its spot, he stands back up and looks at me, "Got anything else 'sides that knife?" I feel the pressure of the knife and its sheath at my side. I should probably pull it out.

"No... No sir?" _Can I call Daryl Dixon sir? Is that a thing? Great, now I sound like Patrick_

Daryl scoffs, "You can cut that sir crap out, ain't no need for it. Formality died with the decent people, ya know?"

I grit my teeth and nod, I'd like to consider myself a decent person, but then I remember all I've done so I could be here today.

Daryl's right.

"Lemme guess, you've hunted 'bout as often as you've skinned squirrels." Daryl chuckles quietly.

"Less," I admit, following Daryl's example of volume.

"No weapon to shoot with, no experience. Guess you'll make a good squirrel holder," Daryl decides.

"Great," I grumble.

"Well next time you'll at least have experience on your side. Gotta learn somehow since yo' daddy ain't here to teach ya. Figured I might as well." Daryl gives me a firm pat on my right shoulder.

I nod in response. Then we get down to the real stuff.

Daryl puts his index finger to his lips and nods to a branch, our first furry victim. I stand frozen and Daryl lets the arrow go. A moment later there's the thump of the squirrel hitting the ground. I follow Daryl over to the squirrel, he got it in the eye. He picks up the squirrel, pulls the arrow out, and hands the squirrel to me by the tail. I take it with gritted teeth, my fingers grasp tightly around the tail. I set the squirrel in the bag and then close the bag up so we can continue on. Daryl gives me some more hunting specifics and we catch a couple more squirrels before the sun gets too high.

"C'mon, we best be headin' back, need to get on the road soon." Daryl nods back in the general direction of the building.

We're about halfway back to the building when Daryl points out the tracks of a walker that must've stumbled by not too long ago.

"Which way did it go?" I turn to Daryl.

Daryl shrugs, "Why don't you tell me?" he points at the tracks, "Use whatcha learned."

I crouch down and look at the disturbance in the leaves and the vague dragging through the dirt. I can make out where the heel was by the way it sinks more into the dirt, which is still soft from last night's storm. One foot is turned inward and I can make out where each shuffling step was.

"It's headed that way," I point, which turns out is back towards the building, "Can we follow it?" I look up at Daryl hopefully.

"Yeah, don't see why not," he shrugs, giving in.

I pull out my knife, just in case, and Daryl loads an arrow. I follow the tracks and Daryl makes sure we're still headed in the right direction. The tracks stumble left, and then back right. My heart pounds excitedly,_ this is kind of fun. _

_I'm sick, what is wrong with me._

_This could just as easily be applied to animals, it just happens to be a walker, calm down._

_Valuable hunting skills Sam, you are accumulating valuable hunting skills._

_By means of tracking walkers! _

_'They aren't pets' _My mind flashes back to the words of Carl he used so long ago. He was scolding Lizzie, back at the prison. I grit my teeth.

I shake my head, trying to clear it of my inner conflict. _Focus on the job_. I speed up a little. Then I hear it. No longer do my ears pick up the quiet shuffle and crunch of the leaves that our feet make. I hear the growls and shuffling so loud it almost seems like stomping. I look back at Daryl, he hears it too. I can see the building in the distance. I look back at the tracks.

"We gonna get it?" I whisper to Daryl, he nods and I pick up my pace, careful to stay out of the tracks. Then I see it, I stop and my foot steps in the wrong place, a twig cracks and the walker turns around. I bit my lip, I have my knife.

_Am I gonna do this? Daryl?_ It stumbles for me, it's taller than me by a good half foot, _I could take it, probably._ I don't have time to look back at Daryl for instruction, I have to make my own decisions. I decide to screw it. Once it's close enough I reach up and plunge my knife into its skull. I twist and pull out the knife, I push the walker down and turn to face Daryl. He lowers the crossbow and nods, "Not too bad girly. Now c'mon, we've wasted enough time."

We make it back to the building and Carl's still not up. Which I find strange, but understandable, due to last night. Daryl guts the squirrels, but he leaves the skins because we haven't got time to cook them now.

I run upstairs to grab my bag and wake up Carl while the adults make one last sweep to make sure we've got everything.

Carl's asleep on his stomach, one arm twisted so the back of his hand rests on his back, and his head is turned towards me while it rests against his other forearm. His legs are twisted up in the blanket.

I crouch beside him and shake his shoulder, "Carl, come on, wake up. We gotta get goin'." he grumbles and I shake his shoulder a little more aggressively. He eventually lets out a moan and one eye cracks open.

"Come on sleepy head, everyone's waiting on you." I tease, ruffling his mop of dark brown hair. He turns over and rubs his face with his hands. He looks at me and his eyes narrow. He sits up.

"Why's there blood on your face?" his hand moves for my cheek and I cast him a confused look. I raise my fingers to my face and they brush a splotch of something. I look at my fingers, it's the black blood of walkers.

"Oh," I shake my head, trying to reassure him, "I was just out hunting with Daryl, there was a walker, I took him out. It wasn't a big deal." I shrug.

"Lucky," Carl sighs, "My dad wouldn't let me do something like that."

"He might. I didn't even do a lot, I was just a squirrel holder." _we can't be wasting time like this, we can have a conversation about the fair or unfairness of me hunting when we're on the road_, "Now come on, let's go." I stand up and pull Carl to his feet. He grabs his hat and I grab the blanket. We grab our bags and I stuff the blanket where it belongs. There's nothing else left to do but head downstairs. The adults are already by the door, and then we head out. Back onto the tracks. Where we walk.

Sometimes I think this process we go through is a bit repetitive. Find a place, deplete it of whatever goods it had left, sleep, leave. Every day. If we're lucky. I guess it's better than staying out in the woods exposed, with no goods. But it does get a little wearing on the soul. All of this gets a little wearing on the soul. You have to be tough to survive here, not just tough either. You have to be willing to do stuff you aren't proud of, but you have to know how to come back. It's a daunting task, especially if you have to grow up in this world like this.

Daryl's right, the decent people, they don't survive. They don't do those horrible things, they died as they lived. Decent.


	42. Numb

I think numbness is a preview of what it's like to be dead. One part of you loses feeling, maybe multiple parts. It burns at first, and then it tingles, and then there's nothing. Isn't that what death is like, to feel nothing? I mean once you're dead, you _are_ nothing. Walkers are numb, they're numb all over. They don't feel pain when we shoot them in the chest. They don't feel it, they're numb. I don't like it when my fingers go numb from the cold, or the tip of my nose, or my cheeks. I especially don't like it when I feel numb in places the cold can't get to. Like when my family died, first I felt pain, so much pain. It was like fire in my chest and my stomach and all over. Then I just felt numb, in my chest, in my gut, in my heart. I overcame that of course, I'm still here. But I think it's the same principle as cold numbness, when they died, part of me died, on the inside. That's why I felt the numbness.

The air is brisk as it pushes against my face, and even with the sun rising in the cloudless sky, I'm cold.

I walk beside Carl, I look down and it's funny because we're step with each other without even trying. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and his cheeks are red from the chill. He's cold too.

I pull my hand out from my jacket pocket, I move my gloved hand (granted the gloves are fingerless) towards his hand, then I take it from him and lace my fingers with his. I walk closer to him, so that our jackets brush as we walk. His arm is pressed against mine, he's radiating heat, but not in a sick, fever kind of way. He's just warm, which makes me warm too.

We pass another Terminus sign, this one has the same message except it's signed _MAGGIE SASHA BOB_.

I'm not gonna lie, the fact that Bob still gets to live makes me a little mad. After all the good people we lost, Bob got to live. Now, it's not that want him dead. I don't think I should wish anyone was dead, except maybe the Governor, but he's gone now anyways.

"Sasha and Bob," I tell Carl, "They're alive too. This is good Carl." I smile at him, and he smiles back, but his eyes don't agree. I glare at him and he gives me a surrendering look. I shake my head at him. _He's impossible._

Before the sun reaches its peak we pass by a concrete tower there's a dead walker lying there, brains smashed to pieces all over the ground. It smells absolutely rancid. I wonder if one of our people killed it, but then I look up and notice that the building isn't completely surrounded by walls. Judging by the position of the walker and the position of the opening on the building. Based on some assumed trajectory, it's a safe bet that walker fell, no one had to kill it.

Then a second thought hits me, _was_ that walker one of our people? I get a tighter grasp on Carl's hand and I look at the walker closer. Dirty brown pants, dirty red plaid shirt, light gray skin, once male. The face is gone, smashed in. Probably from the impact. But from what I can make out, it wasn't one of our own.

I exhale, and until then I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath. I relax my grip on Carl's hand and his thumb rubs my thumb comfortingly.

We walk on an hour or so longer and then I see something in the distance. We get closer and I realize it's a tunnel. We arrive at the start of the tunnel and I look to my left and I see the blood writing again. Same message. _Damn, they haven't lost Bob yet._

_Sam!_

_I regret nothing._

"We sure as hell can't go over," Daryl comments

"Maybe we go around?" Michonne suggests

Rick shakes his head, "No, we need to go through it. Goin' around will take a day or so, it's best we just go on through. I can't hear any walkers, we got flashlights, I just say we do this."

Rick's right, tonight's going to be the coldest night yet, it hasn't gotten any warmer since the sun came up and my nose and cheeks are starting to feel numb. We need to find shelter tonight, and going around this tunnel, the odds of finding any are second to none. We have to go through. We all nod and we follow Rick into the tunnel. We walk until the light from the outside comes to no aid and we click on our flashlights.

Stepping into the tunnel is a whole new kind of cold. The wind blows at our backs, and without any sunlight, the temperature of the tunnel is at least five or ten degrees colder, we're permanently in the shadows, no sunlight to touch this place, to share its warmth, it's like hell. The dank chill feels like it's settling into my bones and I move closer to Carl.

Light bounces off the concrete walls and the artificialness of the light interests me. It's a bright white, and gives off no heat, unlike the sun which gives off more of an orange-yellow glow and at least tries to offer some warmth. Three beams of light scanning the area as we walk, Carl's, Daryl's, and Rick's.

The further we walk, the more my ears pick out the faint moans and growls of a walker. Maybe two, but nothing we can't handle. I unclip my knife from its sheathe with my empty hand. I grip it with my non-dominate hand, but if shit hits the fan, I'll have time to grab it properly, I just want to be prepared.

We walk further and then someone's flashlight catches an obstacle in our path. There's a huge mound of concrete rubble and debris piled up about 30-40 feet ahead of us. Crushed beneath said debris are the two walkers I heard earlier. It takes the quick swipe of Michonne's katana and an arrow from Daryl's crossbow to silence them.

We scale the debris and find a mound of dead walkers piled off to the side ahead of us. Above us is a huge hole where the ceiling should be.

I look at Carl with wide eyes and he looks at me, we both mouth 'Maggie' my expression more of awe, and Carl's more of disbelief. _She'd do it, I know Maggie would._

We climb down the wall that is stained with dried black blood. The shells of many bullets scatter the floor and the reek of rotting walker fills my nose. It feels like it fills my entire body with its stench and utter aura of disgust. I put my knife away and I pinch my nose, I'm forced to breathe through my mouth, I notice the others are doing similar tricks, though they aren't near as obvious about it.

We walk past all of that and I let go of my nose, mainly because I feel dumb, but also the toxicity of the air caused by rotting corpse has become much less prevalent. Carl nudges me playfully, silently teasing me for what I'm sure he interprets as an overreaction, but I claim as justified.

I see the literal light at the end of the tunnel and we follow it, clicking off our flashlights and picking up our pace. We step into the sunlight, and I feel its warmth, though it isn't much, it's better than that hellhole. The very tips of my fingers are starting to get numb from where Carl's hand doesn't touch. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the brightness, which is blinding compared to our prior darkness. When my eyes finally start to work like eyes I notice there's a train yard up ahead, beyond that, a large brick building. There it is. Terminus. My first instinct is step forward, and then again, and again, until I'm running. But I take that first step and Carl yanks me backwards, he gives me a very clear, stern 'we wait for instructions' look and I stand still, ashamed for acting out so stupidly. _What am I thinking. _

We turn to Rick, who looks to Daryl. The adults huddle and have a conversation that my ears only pick up as distorted hisses.

There's a good five minutes of discussion before Rick finally turns to us to gives us the plan, "We're gonna watch this place for the night. See them before they see us, we'll head around and go the back way. Once we find their fences, we'll move far enough away to set up camp for the night. We'll break camp at dawn and head in." Rick explains in the very blunt, to the point way Rick does sometimes.

We nod and we head right, up a grassy hill back up into the woods. Daryl acts like a scout, running ahead, staying covered, coming back, reporting where we need to go. We follow him and the process continues. Until we get there. We find the fence. It's a standard chain link fence, nothing special. No reinforcements. No second wall. At least from what I can tell.

For the first time something in my gut twists. A feeling of apprehension overcomes me. _This is it? This is the only thing protecting the so called safe haven? Ok, there has to be something else_. From what I can tell, this place doesn't look overrun. _This is Terminus remember? Terminus good. Family comes to Terminus. Good. Terminus good. This is one thing. No reason to lose faith in this one thing. Terminus is good. _

But I can't shake it. I feel this sense of numbness, one that not even the cold could implement, it's deep in my gut and I want it to go away. I have been looking forward for this for too long to lose faith now. So why am I still numb?


	43. Life

Life is short. The apocalypse has only made this more apparent. You take what you can while you've got it, appreciate the people in your life, use what you can out of the circumstances you've been given. When a new opportunity strikes, look into it. Help it mold your life, but be careful, not all of these molding opportunities are for the better. The bad things shape your life too. You have to make the most of it while you can, because you'll never know which day will be your last.

We walk straight back from the fences about for about 100 yards, it's down a hill and if we keep our fire low, the people at Terminus will never know we were here. We set up our cans tied to string around our small camp area and built a small fire, keeping it down to embers. Daryl skins and cooks the squirrels and we split that between the five of us for dinner. We eat before the sun goes down and we stamp out what little fire we have once the sun sets, we can't afford to give away our position.

It isn't quite pitch black yet, but the sun is mostly gone and only the very edge of the horizon glows that warm, orange-yellow.

Michonne is tending to my shoulder, like a one last time kind of thing. It's almost completely healed up and she doesn't even give me pain medication this time.

The way Michonne acts whenever she takes care of my shoulder, or the way she took care of Carl and I after The Night, make me wonder about her. And who she really is, who she really was? What was her life like?

"Michonne?" I ask as she's unwrapping my shoulder bandaging.

"Yes?" She looks at me, her dark brown eyes look kind at the moment, but I know they can turn hostile and almost violent in a flash.

"What were you, before everything happened?" I ask slowly, you have to approach these things carefully. Some people don't take to this question too nicely.

She looks down and doesn't reply.

Observation and curiosity take the better of me and I can't stop myself from saying, "You had a kid, didn't you?"

She stops working, her lips form a tight line, "Yes," she says finally, she balls up the old bandaging, it's not bloody, it can be used again later.

Carl, who's sitting beside me, holding my hand and rubbing his thumb against the back of my hand, "What was his name,"

I turn to him, "Or her."

"He," Michonne nods at Carl, she digs through the bag that holds the medical supplies, "I had a three year old son."

Oh, I bite my lip, how much more will she tell? "What was his name?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me you had a kid?" Carl looks desperately at Michonne. By the tone of his voice and look in his eyes, I know that they had a strong bond, much closer than Michonne and my own, "Did you have any others? Were you married?"

She looks down again, I can see the weight of the memories pulling her down. She shrugs and continues to work on my shoulder, "One question at a time."

Carl and I look at each other, a moment of understanding in between us, "Name." we say at the same time

"His name was Andre," Michonne allows, she runs a cloth dowsed in alcohol over my shoulder. It hardly stings.

"Did you have any others?" Carl's brow is furrowed, still trying to understand why he didn't know this before.

Michonne pulls out a clean bandage, "No, one was enough for me, and Andre was a handful, just like you two," she smiles, exposing her teeth. She finishes wrapping my shoulder and then stands up.

"Well, I should get some rest, I'm gonna leave you kids now," she nods at us and walks to the other side of the camp.

The night only gets colder the longer the sun is gone. I layer a long sleeved shirt beneath my sweater and jacket, I pull my beanie snugly over my ears and I stuff my hands in my pockets. I lean into Carl and he wraps his arm around me, it's going to be a cold night. We wrap the blanket around us and I pull my knees to my chest. Carl's head rests against mine, and even though I'm cold on the outside, I feel warm on the inside. I close my eyes and I exhale, relaxing a little. Rick is staying up tonight, Daryl's already asleep, with his back propped up by the trunk of a tree and Michonne is asleep a couple feet away. Rick's looking back towards Terminus, but occasionally casting glances back at us.

I'm nearly asleep when I hear his voice, "Sam," Carl says, I blink open my eyes, Carl's moved his head, so I turn mine and look up at him

"What?" I ask, my eyes looking into his, even in the dark, their blue is luminescent. _Is everything ok? You look pretty serious there_. He clearly looks like he's trying to cover up whatever is on his mind.

"Carl?" I look at him, tilting my head, "What is it?" I rest my hand on his chest and with the hand that isn't already around me he takes that hand.

"I love you," the intensity of his gaze is enough to make me melt.

_Oh. That._

"I love you too," I immediately reply, _why is he saying this now? I mean, I've known this for a while, I didn't know it needed to be said out loud, I just figured it was kind of a mutual agreement._

"I don't mean it like as a passing saying, like I love video games, or I love chocolate pudding. I mean it. I mean that I love you, and I am in love with you." I open my mouth to try and stop him, _I get it, I love him too. A lot._ But he shakes his head at me. _Let the boy speak_, "And I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, and I just want you to know that I love you and I'm not going to let anything-"

I cut him off and kiss him, I've never been the one to start it before, but it's not hard. I turn more towards him and his hand leaves mine and goes to the other side of my waist. After a minute or so I pull away.

"Just stick with I love you, you dork." I kiss him again on the nose, but it's just a peck. Even in the near darkness I can tell he's blushing.

"It needed to be said," he halfheartedly grumbles

"I hear ya sheriff," A small grin forms on my face. He kisses my cheek and I blush.

_God, when did I become the outgoing type?_

_When shit got real._

_Oh._

_Well then._

I rest my head back against his chest and shut my eyes again. Now if there are no more interruptions- no matter how sweet- I'll be going to sleep now. He doesn't bother me and soon I'm asleep.

It's very rare these days to have a good dream, I don't think I've had one since my dad was still alive, so when I do have them I treasure those nights.

Tonight is one of those nights.

We're back at the prison, Dad's still alive, but somehow, so are Mom and Noah. Carl's my boyfriend, which is totally out of normal chronological order, but it's like all the things I love in my life are there. Nothing major happens, it's just like real life, the way I wish it could go. We could have the prison, my family could still be alive, and I could still love and be with Carl.

I'm sad when I'm woken up the next morning because I wish my dream could become a reality, but life isn't just good things. We have to know the bad, so we can suffer and feel pain and recognize the good when we get it.

It starts in my shoulder and then I hear his voice. I open my eyes and Carl's shaking my shoulder, calling my name quietly. I sit up and he nods at me, "We're heading out. It's time." His second sentence is much more solemn than the first, which by contrast makes it seem like he was laughing.

He stands up and I extend my arms towards him, he pulls me up and I brush off the leaves from the seat of my pants. My joints ache from sleeping curled up like that and from the chill of the morning. I roll my neck and shoulders, trying to get rid of the crick in my neck.

"Let's head up there and spread out, watch 'em a little bit longer." Rick decides

We start to head up the hill with our bags, "Wait."

Rick pulls out a shovel and digs a hole, "Just in case." and we bury our bags, including the one with most of our extra weapons. I'm just armed with my knife, it'll have to do.

We head up the hill, Daryl bumps his elbow with me, "Girly, you and me, we'll stick together, ok?" I nod

We're at the top now, just in front of the fence, Rick looks at Carl, "You wanna stick with me?"

Carl grits his teeth and lets go of my hand, he looks at his father and says something 'sorry' and 'it's alright' and he heads off with Michonne. I look at Rick and then Daryl, Daryl nods in a direction and we head out too.

We walk past Carl and Michonne, who've stopped for some reason, but Daryl won't let me stop and ask why.

"They's talkin'," Daryl tells me, "Best not ta eavesdrop."

Oh Daryl, I wish you knew me better. We get out a little farther and Daryl decides this will be a good place to keep watch.

"Um, Daryl?" I use my most pathetic voice

He grunts, "Yeah kid?"

I wince a little, "I, um, I gotta pee,"

He gives me a look and I give an apologetic expression, but really I'm not sorry at all.

_Sorry I'm just not sorry._

"I gotta go real bad," I cross my legs and bend my knees a little.

Daryl grimaces, obviously not too thrilled, "Just... go out a little... don't stray t' far now. And hurry up." he instructs

I nod rapidly and kind of run off, like I've really gotta go. But really I just wanna see what the deal is between Carl and Michonne.

When I know I'm getting close, I stop focusing on speed and start focusing on stealth. I can see them in the distance, but they haven't noticed me. Carl's looking at Michonne and Michonne's looking back at him. I run out and come back around, there's a drop off not too far from where Carl and Michonne are. I crouch run over there, sure I'm completely obscured by the bushes in from of me and of course the drop off.

Their words are quiet, and a little shaky, but I can hear them.

"-your dad brought me back. You did," that's Michonne, I lift my head just enough for my eyes to watch what's going on, "I've see how you've been lookin' at your dad. You don't have to be afraid of me, or him."

Carl lowers his head and even from here I can tell he's upset.

"He told me the other day, that he proud of me. That I was a good man," his tone is shaky, it jumps from his normal octave up an entire one, and back down, "I'm not. I know more, now, about what he wanted for me. And I tried, but I still have these thoughts." My heart aches, seeing him this way. He pauses, and there's more conviction in his tone this time, but it pains him, it pains him so much, "I'm not what he thinks I am. I'm just another monster too." It's like someone's just crushed me under an immovable force, and I can't breathe.

_You're not a monster Carl!_ I scream at him silently. He suffers, I know that now, I'm angry with myself that I didn't notice it sooner. He tries to put on his brave face, pretend he's ok, but he's not. I remember the night we lost the prison and he screamed at the sky, how unhinged he was. He thought he was insane, but those were his monsters. They were coming out of him, and now he believes he's become one.

It's all I can do not to reveal myself and go to him and make him feel better. I look again and Michonne's hugging him. His arms hang limply at his sides.

_Oh Carl, my sweet, sweet Carl. You're so brave, and so quiet, we forget that you're suffering. _

I come back to reality a little bit, _You've been gone too long, Daryl will be suspicious._

So I run, I leave and I run until I'm close to Daryl and I walk back over to him.

"Told ya not to eavesdrop," Daryl comments, he's kneeling on one knee surveying the area out in front of us, past the fence.

_How does he always know?_

"Sorry, I just-"

"Save it," Daryl cuts me off, "I don't need your bullshit excuses as to why ya did it. Ya did it, that's what matters. Can't change it now."

I look down, ashamed.

"C'mon, I gotta pretty good idea a the place. Let's head back." Daryl shakes his head at me. He stands up and I follow him back.

He turns his head back towards me, "Ya know one of these days, yer gonna listen into somethin' that yer gonna regret." Oh Daryl, I already have.

We meet back up at starting point and we're the last ones there. I look over at Carl, but he doesn't look back. I walk over to him and squeeze his hand.

I might not be able make him feel better, but I can damned well try.

We climb over the fence and there's a little bit of a drop on the other side. Rick goes first, then Michonne, then Carl. It's my turn now. I hop the fence and land on my feet. I look around. Am I ready to try my shot at this new life? More importantly, what does this place hold in the means of a life?


	44. Trust

Daryl's feet hit the ground behind me, I hear the swoosh of Michonne's katana being removed from its sheath, Rick holds his revolver, ready to shoot. Carl pulls out his Baretta, and I unsheathe my knife. Daryl takes off in a crouch run, crossbow pointed as he scans the area. About 50 yards away, there's a partially opened door into the large brick building. Rick gets to it, throws it open and Daryl goes in.

I hear a voice, it's a clear feminine tone that makes chills run up my spine, "Terminus. Those who arrive, survive." _Who is she talking to?_ "Follow the tracks to the point where all lines intersect." We're inside now and Daryl's the first to go down a hallway, he's peering into the next room, "There are maps at the crossings to help guide you with your journey." Daryl walks into the room slowly, we follow close behind him. Carl and I are shoved towards the back and I can't see what the room in front of me looks like. All I know is Daryl's crossbow is lowered.

"Sanctuary for all. Community for all." Daryl gives a little nod and we all walk forward. I can see the room now. It's a large room, like the size of a warehouse. In front of us is a large white panel that might be a faded map. Desks and sets of drawers are piled up, pushed together, not in use at the moment. Off to my right, there's about six people bustling around rolling metal tables. Attached to the tables are support beams for light fixtures. Actual working, electric light fixtures. With actual. working, electric lights. _No way. This place has electricity? This is too good. We belong here. I believe in this place._

"Those who arrive, survive."

We have arrived.

We will survive.

Rick picks up his pace and walks past Daryl. He walks over to the woman I've identified as the speaker. She's older, with white hair, she wears large, black headphones and speaks into a microphone while looking off a script at a desk in about the center of the room. _Here it comes. Now it can begin_. Carl follows his dad, I follow Carl, "Terminus. Sanctuary for all. Community for all."

"Hello," Rick says

"Those who surv-" she stops mid-sentence and turns to us, surprised. Her eyes are wide and she removes her headphones.

"Hello," Rick repeats

The dull roar of conversation from over at the collection of tables has stopped and all attention is on us. I don't recognize anyone here. _Where's Maggie? And Glenn? Sasha? ...Bob? Where are all the other people of Terminus? Surely they can't just be composed of what- 7 or so?_

We stand there, I stand up straighter and try to look bigger than I really am. The line-up is Rick, Carl, me, Daryl, Michonne.

One man in a brown jacket speaks up, "Well, I bet Albert is on perimeter watch." he sets something down and walks over to us, "You here to rob us?"

I barely move my eyes to look at myself, and to imagine what I must look like. Small teenage girl, with messy hair that used to be a braid, but now strands are falling all over the place. Beanie encompassing most of her head. Not very threatening face, just generally unappealing. A dirty jacket with a bullet hole, jeans, and Doc Martens.

_Do I __**look**__ like a robber to you? Do any of us... well maybe Daryl... and with that beard Rick's got goin'... but that's beside the point._

"No," Rick shakes his head, he walks forward and he holsters his gun, "We wanted to see you, before you saw us." I stop breathing and I just watch.

"Makes sense," the man shrugs, he walks closer to Rick and if I was closer to Carl I totally would've grabbed his hand. I need something right now, to tether me here. I believe this is right, but I am so scared. I shouldn't be, right? _It's all gonna be alright. It's all gonna be alright. _"Usually, we do this where the tracks meet," he looks over his shoulder and gives a pointed cough, "Welcome to Terminus." He extends arms, gesturing to all around us. He puts his arms down, "I'm Gareth. Looks like you've been on the road for a good while."

Rick nods, "We have." He pauses for a moment, "Rick. That's Carl, Sam, Daryl, Michonne." we just stare, me with hope, them with suspect. I don't want to suspect, I want to believe. I get why they're suspectful I suppose. You never know what you're going to get. Gareth waves, but we all still remain unresponsive.

"You're nervous, I get it," he gestures to the folks behind him, "we were all the same way." he walks closer still, "We came here for sanctuary. That what you're here for?"

Rick gives a little nod, "Yes." I squeeze the knife in my hand.

Gareth gives his own little nod, "Good. You found it." He turns around to one of his buddies, "Hey Alex." The man, who I presume is Alex, walks towards Gareth. Gareth turns back to us and continues, "This isn't as pretty as the front. We gotta nothin' to hide. But the welcome wagon is a whole lot nicer." He claps Alex on the shoulder, "Alex will take you, ask you a few questions. But first, we need to see everyone's weapons." I bite a little on my upper lip. _This is good, they're a good place. They want to check us for our weapons. This is good. This is ok_. "If you could just lay them down in front of you."

Everyone looks to Rick and Rick looks back at us. There's a moment of uncomfortable silence and I just stare because I don't know what else to do. Then Rick pulls his Colt Python back out, and very slowly he bends down and sets it on the ground, "Alright."

Gareth nods, "I'm sure you understand,"

The rest of us lower our weapons, I set my knife at my feet and I move my eyes left and right, Carl puts down his Baretta and Daryl puts down his crossbow. Michonne sets her katana on the ground and then we stand back up.

Rick looks at Gareth, "Yes I do." he sticks out his arms to be frisked. Daryl drops another knife, and puts his arms up. I look at Carl and he looks at me, we both reluctantly hold up our arms. Alex is frisking Daryl.

Alex chuckles, trying to be lighthearted, "I'd hate to see the other guy." Daryl stares ahead, without acknowledgement.

"You would." Rick states bluntly

He moves onto me and I instantly flinch as his hands go to my sides. _Keep it together, keep it together_. "We'd better keep an eye on you," Alex teases, "You look dangerous." he pats down my legs.

He looks up and I look him dead in the eyes, completely serious, "I am."

_*cough* bullshit._

_Shut up, you._

Alex doesn't say anything and he moves on to Carl, there's still a scratch on his face from The Night, "They deserve it?" He pats down his sides.

"Yes," Carl says clearly, but the blankness of his tone is enough to send chills down my spine. He looks down at Alex. There's a look in Rick's as he studies his son that hurts me. He's dazed for a moment, the Gareth pats him on the back and he comes back.

Gareth comes back to the front, "Just so you know, we aren't those kind of people, but we aren't stupid either." he looks at all of us, "And you shouldn't be stupid enough to try anything stupid." he gives a small grin, "As long as everyone's clear on that, there shouldn't be any problems, just solutions. Ok?" he turns around and starts walking back to where he came from. Alex hands Michonne back her katana, he bends down for Daryl's crossbow, but Daryl snags it himself, along with his knife. Daryl glares at Alex, but Alex moves on to me, seemingly undeterred. He hands me my knife, I take it and give him a little nod. He hands Carl his Bareta and Rick his Colt Python and his knife.

In one snappy push, Rick slides his gun into its holster while looking at Alex. Alex looks startled for a moment but then recovers with a small smile, "If you'll follow me," he waves us forward and he walks towards a door. Rick follows him and we follow Rick.

_See guys, everything is falling into place. It's ok. _

We go outside to a concrete courtyard area, mostly enclosed by the brick walls. Daryl passes me, then Carl, then Rick and approaches Daryl, "How long's this place been here?"

Alex turns to him, "Since almost the start." _See, this is a good sign, they've been here awhile, steady environment_, "When all the camps got overrun, people started finding this place. Think it was instinct ya know. Follow a path. Some folks are headed to the coast, others out west, or up north. But they all wound up here." We've stopped walking now and we stand in front of a woman with auburn hair, she's cooking something at the grill, meat by looks of it, "Heard ya came in the back door. Smart, you'll fit right in here." Yes. That's what I hoping for, now where's my family? There's more people milling around in the courtyard, I look around, hoping to find something.

"Hey Mary, would you fix each of these new folks a plate?" Alex asks, giving the woman cooking in a sweater and long skirt a name.

I see a woman in a poncho eating at one of the tables. Daryl had a poncho once, I remember when I first arrived at the prison, he wore it during the winter.

Michonne speaks up, "Why do you do it? Why do you let people in?"

Alex replies right away calmly, "More people become a part of us, we get stronger."

_Keep looking Sam, they have to be here, they have to be_. A man in a chair not too far away digs through a burnt orange backpack, a twinge of familiarity strikes me, but I continue looking anyway.

"That's why we put up the signs," continues Alex, "Invite people in, that's how we survive." I look over at Rick, he's looking around too. There's another man with orange hair in riot gear... riot gear like we had at the prison. Riot gear is riot gear, probably found it off some walker.

"Here," Alex's voice says, I turn and he hands a plate of meat to Carl. _Who cares about food? I wanna see Maggie and Glenn! _My stomach grumbles in protest.

_Ok, I care about food._

He hands me a plate and I take it, I look down and I catch a glimpse of metal, sunlight reflecting off of it. It's a pocket watch chain. Who carries around a pocket watch anymore? Glenn did, that watch was so pretty. I think it was Hershel's once.

I scan the crowd one more time and I still lack to see a familiar face. My gut drops. _This place is not what it seems_.

Rick walks forward, he pushes me slightly to the side. Alex offers him a plate, to which Rick slams it down and reaches into Alex's pocket. He reveals a pocket watch, the silver glistens with an unsettling familiarity. He puts Alex in a choke hold and points the pistol to his head. Carl and I drop our plates, I reach for my weapon and Daryl points his crossbow at Alex. Carl fumbles for his gun and Michonne pulls her katana, we three swing around and look for any challengers. We have the attention of everyone in the courtyard and a couple people pull out hand guns.

_Bitch please._

"Where the hell'd you get this watch?" Rick growls

Rick's tone intensifies as he gets no answer, "Where the hell did you get this watch?"

"You want answers? You want anything else, you get 'em when you put down the gun." Alex is scared now, no doubt. I'd be too if Rick Grimes, who I knew had a history where his mental state was not at its peak, had a gun to my head and my neck in a choke hold.

Rick turns, looking up at the top of the building, my eyes flit over there. There's a man with a sniper rifle, aimed at Rick, "I see your man on the roof. The sniper rifle. How good's his aim?" he lowers his voice, "Where'd you get the watch?"

We're all aiming at Alex now. This isn't it right. Terminus isn't right. This isn't what was supposed to happen.

"Where'd you get the watch?!" Rick screams

"Don't do anything!" Alex calls up to his buddy on the roof, "Put it down! Ya put it down!" the man complies, "Now you wanna listen to me. There's lots of us."

Rick doesn't care, "Where did you get the watch."

"Got it off a dead one," _Bullshit_, "I didn't think he'd need it."

"That riot gear," Rick slings Alex around, "That poncho."

I hear another voice and I turn back out, prepared to hit anyone. I look out of the corner of my eye, Gareth, "Got the riot gear off a dead cop. Found the poncho on a clothes line."

"Gareth we can wait," Alex chokes out, Rick's slung him around so they face Gareth.

"Shut up Alex," Gareth bluntly states.

"You talk to me," Rick demands.

"What's there left to say," he reasons, "You don't trust us anymore."


	45. Animal

As humans, have animal instincts. We did evolve from them after all. I'm a primate, you're a primate, that walker was a primate. Monkey see, monkey do, nurture offspring, fight or flight. All are examples of animal instincts. There are situations where our human consciousness drops out and our subconscious takes over. Doing what it takes to survive, using those animal instincts and applying them.

"Gareth," Alex wheezes

Gareth raises his palm, "Shut. Up." he states very articulately.

"Gareth, please," Alex croaks. I almost feel bad for the guy, but I still don't know where our friends are, so I don't quick eke out that 'feel bad'.

Gareth keeps his palm raised, "It's ok, it's ok." he settles his weight on his feet, "Rick what do you want?"

"Where are our people?" Rick growls, he tightens his finger around the trigger. Brains could blow at any time. Bye bye, Alex.

"You didn't answer the question," Gareth says plainly, he balls up his fist. Rick whirls around and that's when all hell breaks loose. I hear a shot and turn around; Alex is on the ground, presumably dead. Blood is staining the concrete, it had to come from somewhere. But I didn't have time to ponder the finer details of that, because shots were being fired. I crouched down, trying to dodge the bullets. I whirl my head around furiously my ears filled with the sounds of bullet fire, in every direction. I look around frantically, _what are we doing? What can we do._ I dodge left and right, just the noises of gunfire is enough to make me jump. My heart pounds in my throat. Goddamn I wish I had a gun. My head darts left, Rick and Michonne are crouching. Then I swing it to the right, Carl is standing almost protectively in front of me, shooting at some guy by a table with a pistol. The man falls, my head goes back left.

Rick yells something that is muffled and covered up by more bullets, Rick extends his arm like he's trying to protect Carl. Michonne and Daryl keep looking back at me. Michonne has her katana ready to sever the heads of anyone who gets close. Daryl looks around, moving his aimed crossbow. Rick runs towards and alley way and we follow him. I hear the ricochet of bullets off the ground and we're forced to stop, we turn and Daryl leads us another way. Gunfire roars behind me and now I can only hear the blood flowing through my ears. I'm panting and scared. _How could I have been so stupid? There is no safe haven. There never was, there will never be. _

_Stop. You can think about how much of a dumbass you were later. The priority is to get the hell out of here._

Carl looks over at me and something makes him grab my hand. He kind of pulls me along, he yells something but I still can't hear anything, just the roar of gunfire and the blood rushing through my own ears. I make my legs keep running even though everything inside of me wants to shut down. My mind stops thinking and my subconscious takes over. _Fight or flight_.

There's potted plants everywhere, big ones, small ones. There's also these square plots overflowing with green, colorful foliage. There's a couple of tables with orange and red umbrellas, past that is another potential exit. I hear the bullets hitting the ground close behind us, my whole body is pure adrenaline and I don't tell it what to do anymore.

I hear the guns ahead of us, and Rick shields his face, he looks up, shoots a couple bullets and we're forced to go another way. Rick pushes Carl behind him and shouts another command, but I'm still deaf to his words. All I know is we're running back and to my right, we head into a small hangar-like area and Carl is still clenching my hand tightly. There's an exit straight ahead. We pick up our speed and run faster. _Come on, come on. _

_Shit._

The door's closing. It's closing faster than we can get to it. Still we run and run until it's completely closed and Rick has stopped. The roar of the guns has finally ceased and I can actually hear Daryl say, "There!" he points at a barred door and we run to it. Daryl shakes it, but it doesn't budge. Rick turns around and points to a different door. It's a black door, with a barred window, and a handle instead of a knob. To the left of the door, in white paint, there's a single letter, A. Daryl opens the door and it immediately complies, we head out through an alleyway with several large wooden crates, the rumble of gunfire is back.

We run in between them and past a wrecked, old, red car without windows and then past a white car with a rusted brown roof. The walls of the building we run past are red, but stained black like smoke in some parts. I keep dodging and Carl keeps his hold on my hand. We follow Daryl, we slow down, trying to figure out where to go next. He turns to us, points at something ahead and shouts something I can't make out. I follow him anyway, words don't matter right now, just actions.

We make a left turn and head down another alleyway. A man on the roof starts shooting at Daryl. Daryl crouches, trying to protect himself._ No! Daryl!_ Fear builds up in my body and then I realize something. The bullets hit the ground all around him, but surprisingly enough, they don't hit Daryl himself.

_God where did these guys learn to shoot? Stormtrooper School?_

Rick comes up behind us and points to the right, we head that way. We run and I look to my left, there's a chain link fence, some parts are covered with cloth, but I can see past in other parts. It smells putrid and I think I'm going to throw up. I see skeletons, skeletons with their meat picked off. I start to heave when I pay attention for a moment longer and realize they're _human _skeletons. I turn away before I can make it worse for myself, and we run past the area. We're about 50 feet from another entrance with the white letter A painted next to it when I hear something, like actually hear something.

"Help!" voices call. I whirl my head around and there's two red shipping containers stacked on top of one another. I hear distinct banging against metal and more screams in the form of the word '_help_' cry out.

"Keep going!" I'm ripped from my stupor by Rick's voice. Carl pulls me again and we run into the building. We run down a dimly lit hallway, and Daryl opens a door on the left, and we follow Michonne. We break in, and instantly I'm taken aback by the sight I'm seeing. We're in an almost circular shaped room, lit by hundreds of candles, some lanterns are hung from the ceiling and there's a wooden structure with a thin, yet beautifully crafted frame. There's four or five shelves and it must hold at least a hundred candles on its own.

There's a sort of circle of names painted on the ground. Candles are by some names, and there's even a guitar by one. There's a doll by another. The whole place gives off a strange vibe and I press closer to Carl.

On the walls written in large black letters are the words

_NEVER AGAIN_

_NEVER TRUST_

_WE FIRST, ALWAYS_

"The hell is this place?" Daryl speaks my mind. He looks around warily before he turns to Rick. I squeeze Carl's hand nervously, and he looks just as unnerved. Yet, he still tries to be comforting, as he rubs his thumb back and forth against the back of my hand.

"These people," Michonne looks at us, "I don't think they're trying to kill us."

"No," Rick agrees, "They were aiming at our feet."

He looks around, "There," he says, pointing to another door, it's cracked open. Rick and Daryl dash over and someone on the other side shuts it.

_It's like they're not trying to stop us, but to show us the way._

_No Sam, that's not true._

_I'm insane, what am I talking about..._

Daryl spins around, "Here," he points and we follow.

"Go!" Rick shouts, he falls back to make sure we're all accounted for and we file through the new found exit.

The door leads to the outside and the gunfire is back, Daryl ducks his head and Michonne moves in front of Carl and I. Their shots kick up a lot of dust and dirt that gets in my eyes and make it more difficult to see. We run and jump off a small ledge. Daryl stops.

_The hell?_

_It's a dead end_.

In front of us, a row of people with guns stand up. We all freeze.

"_Now ya see how the ground here, it's sorta like a funnel shape."_

I bite my lip nervously.

"_It's a trail."_

I look around, there are sharpshooters with their rifles on the roof.

"_That's where you wanna set the noose. So you hide it with leaves, then ya set sticks all around it."_

We're surrounded.

_"That way any animal that's going by will have to run this way"_

We're just animals, following our instincts.

"_Right into the trap."_


	46. Silence

**Author's Note: **

**Hey Guys, before you read this next chapter I have a little story for you. However, if you honestly give no shits about my life then just skip the bolded parts and we'll call it even.**

**So I am visiting family who live in Georgia, and yesterday I got the very special ****opportunity (special for me... idk about the rest of y'all) to watch the Walking Dead film in downtown Atlanta. It was SO cool, probably the best day of my life so far. And the truth is, I didn't even see very much. They filmed inside this building all day long, and I caught glimpses through windows, and I did get some very interesting information that contains spoilers (so if you wanna know all about that just PM and I shall give you all the gory details (haha, gory. Because it's Walking Dead? No? Ok...))**

**I didn't actually _meet_ any of the cast (unfortunately. *sigh*) however. I did _see_ a couple of the cast members. (technically I guess this is a spoiler because it tells you who's alive, so again PM me) but I will tell y'all one thing. **

**Norman Reedus waved at me. IN HIS DARYL DIXON GEAR. I SAW THE WING VEST FOR REALS. And it wasn't like it was at some huge swarm of fangirls, I was among 3 others dudes, and I was the only waver. Needless to say, I about died. **

***cough* so that happened. Thanks for reading if you did, I have more stories, just I didn't want to write it all here, for reasons. So if you do wanna know it all just PM I'm happy to chat :)**

**Also one more announcement before we get on with the main chapter: Y'all there is no way I can possibly drag out this last little bit of A for 4 more chapters. I will end it at 48. Just so y'all know.**

**NOW, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

* * *

They say that silence is golden. And sometimes, it is. Before I really knew Carl and I'd claim that books were my only friend, I would agree with that completely. I loved the silence. But then my dad died. And then I needed something to fill that silence. Since then, I've discovered comfortable silences. Where the silence is nice, because you share it with someone you love. But there are other silences... They are the very opposite of that comfort. They become stifling and you wonder if there will ever be even thoughts of comfort again.

We all look around at each other. Carl's staring at his dad. What do we do? What can we do? Rick looks at his son and then at me, then back at his son.

"Drop your weapons." A voice breaks through the silence, it echoes throughout the air and makes my muscles rigid, "Now."

I look at Carl and he's still looking at his dad, but the look is different now. It's like he's trying to tell him something. Then it hits me. I've seen this look before. '_I can do this_' it says.

He thinks he can kill them. He thinks he can just turn around with the Beretta and put a bullet in their brains. He's a good shot, I know he could make it, but what price would he have to pay? Even if he kills the guy on the roof, there's still more. No, I won't let him do that. I look at him and I squeeze his hand hard, he barely glances over at me and I give him a minute shake of my head and he bites down on the inside of his lips. _I'm not going to lose him_.

"Now!" The voice repeats his tone far more commanding now, I recognize it as Gareth's.

Rick looks up at the man on the roof, Carl and I have our backs to him and it makes me nervous like this. But Rick starts to crouch down, setting his Colt Python on the ground, Carl does the same. Daryl flat out drops his crossbow and knife. Rick tosses his knife to the ground too. I set my knife down and Michonne is last, looking around she gently rests her katana on the concrete.

We all stand there for a moment, glancing at each other, with no further direction. My arms are trembling slightly. I reestablish my grip on Carl's hand and he pushes his shoulder against mine and I bite down hard on my bottom lip.

"Ring leader, go to your left," Gareth instructs. I look to my right, which is Rick's left, and I spot a faded, dark red train car, with the white letter A painted onto it. Always that letter A.

"The train car. Go." Gareth continues. Rick looks, but doesn't move. Gareth notices this and increases his threat, "Do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies and you end up in there anyway."

My heart drops into my stomach and it's like I can't breathe. _No, not Carl. I can't lose Carl_. I can taste blood in my mouth now but I don't care.

Rick looks at Carl, and Carl is still looking at him. I ball up my empty fist. I'm not going to let them kill Carl. I will do whatever it takes to keep him alive. I look at Rick and he looks over at me. A moment of understanding comes in between us, then Rick nods a little before turning away, walking to the train car.

"Now the archer," dictates Gareth. He means Daryl. Daryl glares at him for a moment before making his way over there.

"Now the girl." I look at Michonne, _which one of us?_ Michonne looks at me, her eyes are slightly widened.

_Oh. That's me_. I don't look up at Gareth, I just look at Carl. There's fear in his eyes, it's not a comforting sight. Reluctantly, my fingers slip out from his. I'm tempted to kiss his cheek, but I'm afraid they'll kill him because I didn't immediately comply. So I turn and I walk to the train car.

The train car isn't that far, but the walk feels long. The walk that will never end. Each step I take is a step further from Carl. That's another step I'll have to take to get back to him. I'm a step further from what it'll take to save him. My chest wells up with fear and dread. I don't want him to die. I don't want Carl to be gone.

"Now the Samurai." Gareth commands. I don't turn around to see Michonne. I'm afraid of turning around, I just keep walking. My eyes are on Daryl's vest. I focus on the wings. The angel wings. They're faded and gray from dirt and time, but they're something. They'll keep me focused. Because that's what I have to do. I have to be focused.

I hear Michonne's footsteps not too far behind me. That's how quiet it is. This silence is not one of that of comfort or peace. It is one that is deadly, and painful. The silence rips my soul apart and steals the air from my lungs.

I have to keep walking. _Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. _

_Carl's alone. He's alone. They could take him out right now. _

_Stop. Don't think like that._

_These people have been nothing but a lie to you so far. What makes you think they'll keep their word now? He's just one kid._ _They could easily just take him out and still use the rest of us for whatever it is they're taking us to a train car for. _

_Stop! _

_He's going to be ok. _

_He has to be ok._

_He Carl freaking Grimes, what the hell can't he do?_

_He will be ok._

_He has to be._

_I'm glad I told him I loved him._

Oh God. It's like he knew this might happen. He wanted to be able to say it while he still could. It feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. The dread is killing me.

_Look ahead Goddammit!_

Rick is just reaching the steps beside the train car.

"Stand at the door! Ringleader, Archer, Girl, Samurai. In that order!" Gareth calls out.

I stand between Daryl and Michonne in front of the door. I look over at Carl now. He's staring at all of us. His hands hang at his sides and my heart thumps loudly in my ears. _Oh God. Please don't shoot him now. Please don't shoot him now. _I can't imagine anything worse right now than them waiting until we're all watching just to shoot down Carl.

A bullet rings out, breaking the silence and then it hits him right between the eyes. He's gone before he can even scream. His now lifeless body crumples to the ground and the hat falls off his head. The sheriff is dead. Those beautiful eyes and that infectious smirk dimmed. Permanently.

No. That can't happen. That would be too awful.

_We're all cooperating. See? He gets to live right? _

About 5 minutes have passed, Carl stares helplessly at us. And then at me, just me, and the look in his eyes is enough for me to want to break down. The tension has only gotten higher.

Rick's had enough.

"My son!" he shouts at Gareth. Carl looks down.

My arms shake and I want to run out there and get Carl myself. As though he can read my mind, Daryl puts his arm in front of me and gives me a look that says '_no_'. I look down and make myself calm down some. The dread is replacing the oxygen in my body, and it's like I'm drowning. The fear and dread is killing me.

No, that's wrong. It's not the fear or the dread that's killing me.

Silence is the real killer.


	47. Safe

Everyone wants to feel safe, besides survival that's our main goal in life, isn't it? Find somewhere with walls so we can be _safe._ Get out of the way of walkers so we can be _safe_. That's what our parents' want- or wanted in my case- for us. Safety is how we prosper. Of course, safety isn't this new found priority. Safety is something that has driven humans as a species for millennia. From men trying to keep women and children _safe_ from threatening animals, to the government negotiating treaties and have soldiers fight overseas to keep our freedom and to keep people back home _safe_. But overall safety sometimes has to take a backseat to in-the-moment safety. You have to get yourself and the ones you love out of harms way. Sometimes, that's the most real form of safety.

"Go on Kid," Gareth tells Carl at long last. It's like I can breathe again, but then I can't again. I can't because I realize, he's not safe yet. It's a long walk over here and a lot can happen between now and then.

I grip the sleeve of Daryl's leather jacket. He pulls it away, but then rubs his hand over my back.

"'S gonna be ok," he mutters without moving his lips much. He moves his hand away and I can't look at Carl. I know he's getting closer, but I'm so scared. So much could go wrong in that walk between here and there. It makes my gut twist just thinking about it.

_He's not safe._

_He's five steps closer_. I try and remind myself.

_But he's still not safe._

_Shut. up._

"Ringleader! Open the door and go in." Gareth commands.

Rick looks up at Gareth and shouts back, "I'll go in with him."

I look up at Carl.

_He's not safe._

"Don't make us kill him now." Gareth threatens. Something like a whimper comes out of my mouth.

_No. No. No. No. Just go in Rick, just go in!_

My arms shake at my sides and I look at Carl. He's looking at his dad, his expression is nothing but full blown terror.

_No. Carl_. My heart thumps so loudly over the raging silence I'm sure Gareth can hear it.

Rick looks at Carl and then back at the car. He knows what he has to do.

Once he's sure Carl is close enough, he mounts the first step. Carl's walk is slow and stiff, and I can hear his footsteps and he's only halfway over.

_He's not safe._

Rick goes up a couple of steps and then with a visible amount of effort, he opens the train car door. It opens with a large rattle and clanking of metal. He takes one last look at his son and steps in. Then Daryl walks up the steps.

_Oh God I'm next. _

I cast a hasty glance at Carl, he's looking at me now and he's still got that look of peril on his face. My legs forget how to move for a second and I look back and Daryl's already in the car. They're looking at me.

_Shit._

I look down as I walk up the steps. I've always done it, this isn't something that's new. It's always been more of a habit, probably due to a lack of self confidence in a crowd and the general effect of being fairly shy mixed with fairly clumsy. Soon I'm in the car and I go stand by Rick and Daryl. Michonne is not too far behind, as she steps into the car she's looking back at Carl.

_He's not safe._

We're all in and we're just waiting for Carl now. Daryl guides me back to the corner of the train car, probably taking safety measures to make sure I don't try and run out to Carl like I considered before. Truth is, I don't think I could even if I tried, my body doesn't want to work with my head anymore. Everything is mixed up and has just taken to being frozen in place. We stand at the back corner and we watch the entrance. Rick and Michonne wait by the door for Carl.

I wanna be there. God, I can't stand this tension.

I'm trembling, _where is he? Shouldn't he be here by now? God, please just let him get in here safely._

_He's not safe._

I hear someone coming up the steps and then Carl emerges. Rick puts his hand in a protective gesture at the back of Carl's neck. They start walking over and the door is closing behind them.

_He's safe_.

I can't contain what I can only describe as pure relief any longer. Even though Daryl has a grip on my arm, I pull away and launch myself at Carl, nearly tackling him in a hug. I greedily clutch at the back of his hoodie, I have two fistfuls of the dark blue material. His arms wrap around me, gripping my back. Like he can't believe he's holding me, this is a mutual feeling. His breath is shaky in my ear.

I want to say something, but at the moment I'm just trying to keep myself together. _He's here. I can hold him. They can't hurt him anymore. Oh God, I'm so glad you're here. _I silently tell him, _I love you, I love you, I love you._

"You're safe," passes my lips in a breathy way. I squint my eyes shut and swallow hard. I'm almost in disbelief that I can actually hug him again. _He's not dead. He made it. _It's like the nightmare is over.

_It's only begun._ A voice reminds me in the back of my head.

_Screw you, I can think about that later._

"Yeah, it's ok." he promises he's still not pulling away, if anything he's holding me tighter. I like feeling his chin resting on my shoulder as my face buries into his own.

"Aren't you gonna say I told you so," the truth comes out. He was right. He knew Terminus was bad news and now I've got hell to pay for it.

He shakes his head and finally pulls away a little, "No." he shakes his head again. The look in his eyes tell me that this conversation is not over, but it also says we're done for now.

My ears pick up movement from the other side of the train car. But it's so dark I can't make out anything. There's a crack in the top of the train car that lets in a thin stream of light. I hear footsteps come closer, and then a voice. It sounds familiar, but soft and uncertain, maybe just a bit broken, "Rick?"

* * *

Hey guys, sorry for the short chapter. I have two more chapters written out for this story. And in more exciting news, I can confirm the spin-off will happen and I have the first chapter written out. Thanks to all who voted or put in their opinion! Thanks to everyone for reading!


	48. Family Reunions

I never cared much for family reunions. Always filled with more uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents than you knew even existed. It was always the same thing, pinch your cheeks, say 'my, how much you've grown', 'how old are you now?', I tell them my age, 'oh goodness? Already? I can't believe how big you've gotten'. Then you nod, smile sweetly, move on, repeat the process and hope that the food is decent. I generally found a corner, pulled out the book I'd been squirreling away and read until one of my parents screamed my name telling me it's time to go. I feel terrible now that I neglected the true purpose of a family reunion, seeing as they're probably all dead. But I can't go back and change anything. I just have to hope I haven't seen my last family reunion.

_Glenn?_

_Glenn._

_Glenn!_

My heart races with excitement. It's almost a sick kind of excitement, because I'm here trapped in a train car with who knows what fate lying ahead, yet we're reunited, so I'm happy.

He came to Terminus, just like Maggie wanted.

_Maggie. _

_Is she here too?_

Alongside of Glenn's newly visible figure appears Maggie, and then on his other side, Sasha.

_No Bob?_

_I see no Bob._

_Yes, they lost him!_

_I mean... that's just too bad._

"You're here," Rick says, his voice is somewhere between surprised and relieved. He steps forward and looks around, he gives a little nod, "You're here." he repeats. He's speaking the minds of us all._ They're here, they're alive._ How many I cannot be for certain. But at least they aren't among the meatless skeletons we saw.

More people are appearing from the blackness that bathes the other half of the train car. I am certain that to them we too are partially painted in the unforgiving darkness.

_Is that?_

_No it can't be._

_Son of a bitch._

_Bob made it._

_Goddammit, I thought I finally had one good thing going._

Also appearing are three people I've never met before. A woman who's hair is in pigtails with her arms crossed. A large man with orange hair and a handlebar mustache. A guy that looks like he used to live in his mom's basement with a mullet and a belly that makes me jealous. He's certainly not gone very hungry. He also gives off a vibe that I'm not quite sure how I feel about.

The silence of the place is as thick as the darkness and it makes me shift uneasily on my feet.

One more person emerges, she isn't a total stranger. I recognize her vaguely; she was one of the Governor's men. Instantly my gut plunges and I push closer into Carl his arm around my body squeezes me in a comforting way.

Rick clearly looks at the girl and then at Maggie and Glenn, his body language reflects that of reluctance and uncertainty. All understandable things considering what we've just been through. His eyes dart around examining the other strangers. Maggie looks back at the girl and then took Rick.

"They're our friends," she states clearly

More silence. My breath shudders past my lips uncertainly as I look around at the family I arrived with and the family I've reunited with.

_You wanted this. You wanted the family to be whole again._

_Not like this. Never like this._

_Besides, we're still missing a few parts to the Prison Family. Carol, Tyreese, Beth._

_Are they even still alive?_

_Shut up! You've come too far to think like this!_

_And where has it gotten you?_

I shake my head and get back to the real world, like that's much better.

"They helped save us," Maggie continues

Daryl tips his head a little towards them, "Yeah, now they're friends of ours." well I'm sold; Daryl's given them the seal of approval. _But really, what other choice do we have?_

Handlebar mustache man speaks up from the back of the crowd, "For however long that'll be." he grimaces pessimistically.

_How did they end up in here? Did they see the yard of skeletons? How long have they been here?_

The place smells of stale urine and despair, so I decide it's been a bit. As for the other two questions, only God knows what they've seen and been through.

Handlebar turns around and Rick speaks up.

"No," he says. Everyone gives Rick questionable glances; they shift on their feet and study him curiously. Rick fades for a moment, as though he's caught up in a memory. Then he's back. He looks around at each and every one of us. Though his eyes linger most on Carl. He walks over towards the locked door and glances through a slit in the wall. After a moment longer he glances back at us.

"They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out." he remarks

"Find out what?" Handlebar turns back and looks at Rick. My eyes flit around, first to Glenn. His expression is set with determination. Then Sasha who's wanting to know the plan but at the same time has a bit of uncertainty about her look. Michonne looks about ready to throw down and Daryl has a very kickass vibe as he looks to Rick, ready for his next words. Carl studies his father, curious and yet, still trying to get over the thoughts that fumble up his mind. He still looks a bit scared, probably still not fully recovered from the ordeal we've just been through. I hope I look ready for what Rick has to stay, that I exude the confidence that Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn do, that I'm ready for action and ready for revenge. A look that says I'm not gonna let anybody take me down.

But I probably don't, I probably look terribly frightened and fearful for what's to come.

One can dream.

In a very clear, threatening tone, Rick looks to us, "They're screwin' with the wrong people."

My, what a family reunion this will become.


	49. Love

I'll be the first to admit that I'm only 15, and yes, I'm probably too young for love. That I don't know what love really feels like, and it's just a stage, and I'm hormonal and I'm a teenager. But I also know that I've had to grow up pretty damn fast in this shit hole of a world, and that I know in my every being I'd do whatever it takes to keep Carl alive. There's a certain driving passion behind this desire and I'd say that's a pretty decent definition of love. But hey, maybe I'm wrong. However, I'll settle for what I'm feeling now, and if I'm wrong my feelings will grow with time.

Glenn approaches me after a moment; Carl has gone to talk to his dad about who knows what.

_Is it bad that I know what's coming?_

"So, you and Carl huh?" Glenn jokes, his eyes go from me to Carl to back at me.

_Nailed it._

I wince, even though I predicted this, "Was it that obvious?"

Glenn pops a surprisingly playful eyebrow for our current situation, "You and him, you guys were, uh, pretty close. I'd think it was stranger if you two _weren't _a thing."

_Is this really the time?_

"Should I know how you two got together?" he gives me a look and I remember the stories of how he and Maggie started out.

_Not quite like __**that**__. _

I shrug indifferently, "We had become friends shortly before we lost the prison, and then we got out together. It just... happened." is the only way I know how to explain it.

"And Rick's ok with all this?" Glenn's eyes move to Rick for a moment.

I look down and shrug meekly, "I guess he's accepted it, I mean I can't really say whether or not he's ok with it. Carl is the only blood he's got left."

It feels so dumb and pointless to be discussing my relationship with Carl at a time like this, particularly with someone I wasn't buddy- buddy with back at the prison. I mean I knew Glenn and I respected him and all, but we weren't all that close.

But then again, with such weight this situation brings, maybe we should discuss something a little more light. It's a distractor, and sometimes we need that.

Something new comes to mind, and I start to wonder, "Glenn, do you ever wonder if you really love Maggie?"

"What? Of course I-"

I cut him off, I probably asked the dumb question wrong, I stick my hand up, "I didn't mean it like that. I meant, do you think if it wasn't the apocalypse, but you had still met Maggie, do you think you two would've fallen in love and gotten married?" I search for my words, "Or do you think you only love each other because we haven't really got a choice left and we kind of have to?"

Glenn looks at me strangely and cocks his head, thinking about it. I'd like to think it's not an unreasonable question. He opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again. He's truly puzzled, "Yes. I think that we really did fall in love with each other, not just the fact that we don't really have much variety. I'd like to think that this whole thing brought us together, and was fate in a strange kind of way. I don't think it was a forced thing at all." there's some power behind his words, but there's still uncertainty, like that's what he wants to believe, but he'll never know for sure, "Do you think you're in love with Carl? Do you think you really love him, or are you just settling?"

Instantly I want to retort angrily back at Glenn, because of course I love Carl. _Don't I?_ But then my head starts thinking and I start to rethink my hasty actions.

I think about it, and then when I'm ready, I respond, "Yeah. I think I do. I mean, I'm young right? I shouldn't have to settle? It's not like I have plans for the ultimate goal of pairing off any time soon." _Besides who wouldn't fall for Carl Grimes? Am I right?_

Glenn presses his lips together into a thin line, "Well, just be good to Carl, alright? That kid is like family to me, I'd hate to see something happen to him. Not that I think you would, but just know." he nods at me and then turns and walks away. I walk a few paces to the wall of the train car, I slide my back down against the cold metal until I'm sitting down with my arms wrapped around my bent legs.

I sit there for a bit and I just think,_ how the hell are we gonna get out of here? __**Are**__ we gonna make it out of here?_

_Of course we will, we have Rick and Daryl. We're getting out of here._

My arms get tense with stress and I tell myself to stop worrying about the things I can't control. I'm not gonna be the one to bust us out of here. I'm the kid again, I have to sit back and wait for the adults to do this for me. And I hate it.

_Quit. Think about something else._

So I do.

After a bit, Carl comes over to me and he sits down beside me. I look at him and he looks at me.

"Happy Birthday," I elbow him lightly

He narrows his eyes at me with utter confusion, "What?"

"Happy Birthday," I repeat with probably more enthusiasm than I should possess at times like this.

He cocks his head, "Where the hell did you get that one from?"

I clear my throat and turn to him, "So I've been thinking."

Carl nods, "Yeah, I'd figure that's not exactly a new concept for you, bookworm." he teases, but his enthusiasm doesn't seem as pure, like he's trying to force it.

"You gonna let me continue, sheriff?" I throw that nickname back at him. He nods and I roll my eyes, "So, the way I see it, you're 15 now. Hence the 'Happy Birthday'."

He narrows his eyes suspiciously, "How do you know?"

"Well we lost the prison two and a half, three weeks ago. Then a week before that my dad died. And a month before that, you found me at my place on the roof when I nearly fell off. And a week before that I turned fifteen. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but about all that time adds up to about 2 months. And if you remember correctly, you are exactly 2 months younger than I am. So that puts you at your birthday right about now." I beam at him. I use my hands to give an emphasizing gesture, "Happy Birthday! Need I say more?"

He chuckles and shakes his head, "You are ridiculous."

I lift a single eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"You are ridiculous," he clarifies, "we are stuck in a train car. Death looming however close. And here you are telling me happy freaking birthday," he shakes his head, but he's got this slight smirk.

"Would you rather I had said happy death day?" instantly I'm filled with regret, but he plays it off, so the unbearable weight in my chest becomes slightly more bearable.

"One, I'd rather you not. Two, you don't that for sure." Carl fires right back.

I shrug, my point being proven. However I do continue on, "The way I see it, you can be depressing and let the world weigh you down with its deep conflicted sorrows and narrowly looming death. Or you can think about things that are a little less... dark... like how time passes or love or birthdays or books. Whatever helps keep you away from the dark places." Though I might add we are most certainly stuck in one.

It's strange to preach the thoughts that have just crossed into my mind. Not ten, fifteen minutes ago was I questioning Glenn for his same actions.

Carl chuckles again, with that slow, slight shake of his head. He looks at me and his blue eyes bore into mine, "You're amazing."

"I thought I was ridiculous?" I counter

"You are ridiculously amazing." He compromises, "God I wish I could think like that."

My gut drops like a rock. Guilt, anger, regret, pain, and so many more emotions surge throughout my body, "Carl." my tone has done a complete 180°, and now I'm quiet and scared.

He looks at me curiously, and his hand finds mine, "What is it, Sam?"

"I… I heard you earlier… when you were talking to Michonne, before all this-" I gesture to everything around me, "went down."

Carl's tone cracks a bit and he looks down, "How much?"

I swallow uneasily, "Enough," I nod firmly at him

He bites his lower lip and his dark eyebrows furrow together, "Sam, that's not an answer," he shakes his head at me and grips my hand a little harder, almost desperately, "How much did you hear?"

I remain adamant, "Enough." I repeat, not letting him get the opportunity to get a more specific answer, I continue on, "And Carl, I gotta tell you. I don't agree with what you said."

He draws back a little and his tightly knit brows go up in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," I let out a sigh, my tone drops and I keep my eyes on his, "I don't think you're a monster. I don't see you as a monster, no one sees you as a monster. We all think terrible, monstrous things. And we all do shit we ain't proud of. But those things they don't make you a monster, because we regret our actions, and... and we get to come back Carl." I look at him, but he's not quite looking back at me.

"That doesn't make us monsters, it makes us human. Just because we're human, that doesn't mean we're humane. But we can do things, that redeem ourselves, that prove to us that deep inside, we aren't too far gone. It proves to us that we're still good, and I think that's fantastic. To just be able to come back and while yes, we do have to live with ourselves, we also know that there is a good inside of us." my empty hand moves to his chest and rests gently against it, "You know how I know you aren't a monster?"

He gives me a puzzled look.

"Because you love Carl. You love your dad, and you love Michonne, you love Daryl, you love me. All in their respective ways. Monsters don't love Carl, you do. And it's not through declarations of said love. It's the way you treat people and protect them. And I see you doing that, you love them Carl. That's what made the Governor a monster. You want an example of a monster? There's a hell of a good one. He didn't regret Carl, a man like that, doing the things he did over and over. There was no regret, there was no love. Or maybe there was at some point, and it drove him to be that way. But in the end he was a monster." there's a heated passion of hatred behind my tone, I'd argue it's with good reason.

"I don't look at you and think the Governor. Because you're trying Carl, you're trying to be better. I've watched you change as a person Carl. I've watched it happen. From when I first arrived from Woodbury, you were cold and hard and you wanted nothing to do with us. You hated us, you didn't have to say it, I could see it. Then you were this farmer boy and I could tell you didn't want it, but you still tried for your dad, because you love him. And you came back. You killed that boy, but you came back. Hell, I killed that man in the bathroom because he tried for my chest. You don't think I feel regret for that? I know you feel regret for killing that boy, you told me so. The Governor, he never tried. He never regretted. You think he regretted killing my mom, or Noah? No! He just killed and killed and-" I dig my nails into my palm,_ calm down child. This is not about you. You're trying to make him feel better, remember?_

"He was a monster, but you, you're not. You're just Carl, and I love that." I give him the teeniest of smiles, the corners of my mouth are just turned up, "We can't be perfect anymore Carl. We can't all be good people. Hell, none of us fit the old definition for 'good people'. Because we do things that are terrible and vile and are by no means decent or honorable. But we do them to survive. Do you remember what you told me when I killed that member of Joe's group? I was for sure that you were gonna hate me, or you already did, and we were never become anything more than two people with each other only for the sake of survival. I thought I had lost every chance at actually having some merit in your eyes. I took my chances though, and I told you. I hated myself and thought you would too, but you said 'I was a survivor, not a killer. There's a difference.' and there is. Lord knows there is," God help me I'm rambling now, but I'm off on a tangent and show no signs of stopping any time soon.

"And you're that survivor, Carl. You do what you have to so you keep living. We're survivors, it's what we do. Survive. Nothing more. Nothing less. And it's not beautiful, or unique, or special. It's just what we have to do. I think that's how we're gonna make it out of here. Because we do what it takes for survival. I don't have to worry and stress over the 'whether or not' factor, because we are. Let's face it, we're with the right people to get the hell out of here. Now it's just a matter of time."

Carl nods, but doesn't really respond. I hope that helped some, I hope he knows that he's more than he's making himself out to be. But in the end I can't change him, I can only help.

It's silent for a while and I'm left to quibble with my thoughts again. _How. How after all this time, after all I've been through, do I still manage to fall for a fool's dream? Everyone else had their doubts. Why didn't you listen to them?_

"I'm sorry I was such a dumbass and I didn't believe you," I mumble to Carl, he's sitting next to me, legs stretched out in front of him. One arm wraps around my side, pulling me into him. My head rests gently on his shoulder.

"It's alright, you weren't a dumbass, I get why you believed in it… hell they had me going for a while," he turns his head to look at me. Even in the dim lighting, his eyes are bright as they look at me. I don't get it. He has every right to tell me off about how dumb I was. That he was right, I was wrong. I want him to go off on me. Yet, he keeps his cool.

"But it's not," I protest, still trying to stay calm, "I should've listened to you. I should've listened to everyone around me. I should have had a shred of doubt for this place. But no. I was too goddamn gullible. I wanted to believe in a fantasy, and even when the red flags shot up, I shot them right back down. From the moment we saw that Terminus sign, I should've started questioning things. You did, I should've thought that you were on to something and that my stubbornness was only going to get us killed. And it nearly did."

"Sam, it could have been any of us. You wanted to believe in something good. It's understandable. Your gut was wrong once. It happens to the best of us. Please don't beat yourself up over this," he begs. He has that look in his eyes again, when he told Michonne that he thought he was just another monster. It makes my heart ache and I don't know how to respond, so I let it drop. But he doesn't.

"Sam, let's be honest. If we hadn't followed those railroad tracks I might never have seen my dad again. I would've gone on believing he was dead and hating him for it," _now you hate him, or are otherwise afraid for an entirely different reason_, "It was our best shot. On that front you were right, you said that my dad would go. And he did, and we found him and Michonne and Daryl. You told me this, and I didn't listen. Just like you didn't listen to me. And we're not always going to listen to each other, but that's ok. And maybe things aren't looking so sunny right now, and yeah you were wrong, once. But you're gonna be right again, because that's just you. This one thing won't be the end of you and I wish you wouldn't treat it that way."

I bow my head and he uses the arm that's around me to rub my arm. We fade back to silence and I've stopped thinking really and I'm just staring, but Carl's back out of his funk and breaks our silence.

"So I'm 15, right?" Carl smirks at me and there's a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry I, uh, didn't getcha anything. I'm a little confined right now and my resources are less than minimal. Had I known though, I'd totally have been prepared." I joke around, trying to be light again.

"Well I never got you anything when you turned 15 so I guess that puts us about even." Carl shrugs.

I turn and look at him and I poke his chest, "When we get out of here, I'm raiding the first store we come across and I'm getting you something."

Carl's smirk turns into a smile and his eyes are light and kind as they hold me, "Yes, definitely. We shall raid the store together and find each other respective gifts." he clears his throat, "So anyway, I'm 15 now. So that means I can drive, right?"

"No," I shake my head, with a smirk of my own. I'm teasing of course, but he doesn't have to know that, "No, no, no. No, no. No."

"Excuse me?" one playful brow pops up, "You're 15 and you're driving." he blatantly points out.

_Psh. Psh._ "I drove because of circumstance, buddy. I was the oldest and thusly I filled the roll of driver."

"You know," Carl casts me a look, "if we were still living in the old world, I would be driving."

I roll my eyes, "You'd be learning."

"Still." Carl nudges me, "Well I gotta learn sometime, will you teach me?"

"Man, I just know how to go and not crash, and I'm only 1 for 1 on the second part. Why don't you ask your dad to teach you?" I suggest, trying to get him back on the path towards his dad.

He gives me a look like 'is this really the time', to which I shrug, "Hey Dad!" Carl calls, Rick turns around, he wasn't really talking to anyone anyhow. He takes those few steps over towards us and crouches down so he's more on our level.

"Yeah, Carl?" he tries to hide his overwhelming exhaustion, always for his son.

"So Sam here did some fancy math things and figured out that I'm 15 now. So, do you think you could teach me how to drive?" Carl asks, lifting his eyebrows hopefully.

Rick runs his hand over his beard, "Well, I'd figure right now might not be the best time." he uses a light tone on his son's sake, "But once we get out of here, maybe find a real place to call home, and a car. Sure, I'll teach ya, it's good to know in case we ever get separated," _again_. I silently add, because I was the one who had to fill that void last time.

"Ok Dad," Carl nods, grinning with excitement. And I see the love Rick has in his eyes for his son. Even in the darkest of times, love will help us through to carry on to brighter lives.

* * *

Author's Note:

And that's it... for now. I hope y'all enjoyed this extra chapter, I kind of had to go out on a limb and assume the crew didn't immediately break out of the train car. So please review and tell me what you think!

I'll have the first chapter of the spinoff out some time next week, probably pretty early, but idk yet. For more info on the spinoff check out my profile!

As always, thank you to everyone who reviews, follows, favorites, and just in general reads my story. Y'all mean the world to me.


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